What do I say to you when you open your eyes to me, blinking?
What do I say to you, as you stare to the right?
What do I say when you can only utter faint noises in response to my questions?
What do I say to you when I see those crumpled hands grasping the sheet below?
What do I say to you now that a triple-lumen catheter’s in your leg?
That pinned hip will help you now, won’t it?
Are you in pain?
Are you hungry?
Are you thirsty?
Are you warm enough?
How do I know?
What does one say, to a 96 year-old like this?
Not knowing not what to say.
Except, perhaps, I’m sorry.