She had already sorted that pile out in alphabetical order. Then she went to do the reports. The sound coming from her cubicle was like a damned Gatli...g gun. I looked around the corner, she was typing. Her fingers were a blur. ‘Henriet..I mean, Hank? How damned fast do you type anyway, a thousand words per minute?’ I asked her with a grin. ’95 actually.’ She told me, looking my way. Her fingers never stopped moving. ‘Damn!’ I mumbled as she went over to the files cabinet and pulled out another. I should have just asked permission to visit. If I had, you’d still be here, fighting. Then I wouldn’t have this huge ache inside. I recognize these thoughts as foolish, and I brush them aside. I focus on better, positive thoughts. On healthier imaginings. The other part of me is happy you no longer suffer. I couldn’t stand to hear you talk about the pain. It made me feel helpless, the simple words I had to offer seeming insignificant and paltry. The ache is eased simply knowing your pain is. More

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