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{Reservations} {Tickets} {Map} {Photos} {Souvaniers} {Postcards} {Design} 2002-04-27 | 1:02 a.m. Saville died today. At 4:30 she was looking up at me with those wonderful hazel eyes, the kind with a darkly rimmed iris, and beautiful arched brows. She said a few quiet words, and wheeled away, only to come back again and gaze up at me. I asked "Are you feeling better?" No answer. Again, "Are you feeling better today, Saville?" She ate dinner in the dining room, intermittantly holding hands with her table-mate. Before everyone could be removed from the dining room, she quietly passed. I'm thankful I had a chance to help you yesterday, Saville. You were anxious, frightened for a few minutes, but we worked it out together. You were able to enjoy live piano the day before you died. The day shift nurse said you had a good day today, and didn't complain of any discomfort. Still, I wish I had known you when you were well. Miss These? absence of life - 2003-07-28 |
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