Chapter Four

	As the elevator doors opened on floor 3, I heard voices again. I stepped out of the elevator and looked to my right at the empty hallway. To my left however a woman leaned sobbing on the shoulder of a man. A four year old child cling to her pants leg with one hand while the other held a small tablet playing a cartoon video. His eyes were glued to the screen.
	I walked into Mrs. Izato’s room, the sound the game show filled the air and spilled out into the hallway. I locked the door behind me and walked to the bedroom, “There’s a couple and small child out in the hallway. The woman is crying, I think it might be that guy’s family.”
	Mrs. Izato snapped to attention and turned off her television. She got out of bed rather quickly, grabbing her rollator and jerking it out in front of her as she stood up.
	“Don’t you think you should…”, I tried to caution her.
	“We don’t have time!”, she snapped and went into her closet. She quickly changed into a tea dress, and sat in her wheelchair. She looked impatiently at me, “Well? Let’s Go!”
	We exited out into the hallway just as the couple was starting to unlock the door.
	“Missy?” Dorthy called out.
	The child let go of his mother and looked over to see who called out before going back to his screen.
	The woman turned to face us, grateful for the distraction she left the key in the door lock and walked briskly towards us. She burst into fresh tears as she leaned down and hugged Mrs. Izato tightly.
	“He was so proud of you, Sweetheart. He talked about you all the time.” Dorthy hugged back tightly with her one good arm. “He was a firm Protestant, I always saw him at chapel every Sunday regardless the religious service. You know he’s up there on a porch swing looking down at you, holding hands with Doreen. Neither one of them would want you sad. They both lived good full lives, and now you.. You need to live a good life with your family, and make those same memories there. Teach your son how to live, honor life, and love. Just like Gus did for you.”
	“It’s hard to be strong.” the woman refused to let go of her hug. “I’m all that’s left now.”
	“No, Sweetheart.” Dorthy released her hug and pushed lightly on the woman so she could look her in the eyes. “You are not the last. Your son is the last. You are the last with the knowledge, with the memories. Until you share those memories, values, and knowledge with your son. Perhaps even your daughter one day, if not another son. This pain now is bitter and hard, I know it is. But the further away from it you get, the easier it is to burden. If you focus on what you have, and not what you lost. You will find your attention, love, and focus are needed elsewhere.”
	The woman turned and looked at her son who was still staring at the screen.