She sat next to his hospital bed and held his hand as she’d done ever since his illness began. There had been lots of battles but this seemed like the last one. Something in his eye, in his posture, suggested that he was done with it all. She could read him like a book, always could.

He looked over at her and said, “it would be nice to have a cup of coffee together.”

The shared cup of coffee had always been one of those simple rituals that helped tie them together. Every morning, after feeding the indoor and outdoor cats, they would sit and have their coffee, play their online scrabble games and catch up on the news. Usually it was sports highlights or local events or old homes for sale. Easy things to slide into the day. They always drank coffee roasted in places they had visited or used to hang out. They weren’t coffee snobs, but they liked a good cup of coffee. And a good cup of coffee from a place fondly remembered made the ritual that much richer.

Afternoon coffee usually involved catching up on the events of the day, discussing things that needed to get done, and making plans. Sometimes afternoon coffee just involved sitting side by side on the porch watching the world go by. He wanted just one more of those moments.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. As he watched her head down the hall to go find coffee, he couldn’t help but feel bad about having to go away. It wasn’t the dying. It was the leaving. And he couldn’t believe how sad he was at the thought of not seeing her, at least for awhile. He remembered his own father’s last words to him, “I’ll see you in a couple years.” Dad was usually right. He hoped dad was right again. He hoped that he’d see her again soon.

He worried about whether she would be okay after he was gone. She’d probably do better than he would if the roles were reversed. She was both stronger and more fragile than he was at the same time. And she was clever. She knew how to steer him to do the right thing. “Don’t be dumb.” God, if he only had nickel for every time she said that to him. Like his dad, she was almost always right.

As he was reflecting on all of this, she returned with coffee and pastries. Seeing her, and the thought of one more shared moment, perked him up a bit. He was weak but her return put a little sparkle in his eye. She sat on the side of the bed and pulled the bedside table over. She reached into the bag and pulled out a scone and a muffin. He wasn’t hungry but the smell stirred a bit of appetite. She popped a piece of the scone into his mouth. As the flavor spread over his tongue, he sighed and smiled a little. She said nothing but saw it all and smiled to herself.

She reached back into the bag and pulled out the coffees. Starbucks. He looked at the coffee and looked at her. She said nothing. “I was hoping for a good cup of coffee….”. She laughed. They were as strongly united in their dislike for Starbucks coffee as they were in their love of having coffee together. “It’s all they had,” she said. He was now sitting up in bed and she could see he was getting a little worked up. He wasn’t mad but he was putting on the “playfully annoyed” role.

“Dammit. I’m sitting here dying and in my final moments on earth, I’m asked to drink this shit?” “Do I look like a soccer mom?” “Do I own a minivan?” “Am I laying on a yoga mat?” She looked at him. He was gaunt and weak but he was still in there and flashing a bit of the wit and bite that she (mostly) loved about him. In this moment, he was still him. “It’s all they had,” she said without looking at him.

“I am not letting my last cup of coffee on earth be this burnt crap.”

“Yeah, I know. So don’t make it your last cup of coffee, mister,” she said as she scooted onto the bed next to him.

And they sat touching each other, drinking their coffee together each with a wry smile and misty eyes, grateful for one more moment like this.

The illustration is a detail from Jordan Casteel’s “Returning the Gaze,” displayed at the Denver Art Museum.