You came in for chemo and I fell in love with your sweet freckles and your perfectly round, bald head. We talked about life and sushi and junk food and your break dancing and I forgot for a moment how busy the floor was, how you were my patient and I was your nurse. We were just people, could-be-friends, sharing pizza in your room and laughing at the silly cartoons on your TV. You had a gentle laugh and a warm smile, and the last time I hugged you, I wished that I could tether you to the Earth, give you a little more time, bargain with God because it was too soon for you to go. I knew it would be the last time I held you to me and you were so thin, so eaten away by your disease that I thought you might float away right then.
I am so grateful that you are no longer suffering. I feel so blessed to have known you, even for just a moment. I know you are break dancing in your new, eternal body, and God is smiling at the sight of you.