Probably enough supplies to last six months.

Every hospice visit went exactly the same way.

I would enter carrying something.

Larry would say, “Sit down, Sarah.”

And I would answer, “In a minute.”

There was always another nurse to find.

Another form to complete.

Another problem to solve.

Then I reached the next sentence.

“I didn’t need better socks nearly as much as you thought I did.”

I laughed through my tears.

“You’re welcome, Larry.”

Then I read the line beneath it.

“I needed you to sit down.”

I looked at the empty place beside me.

Our final Tuesday together came rushing back.

I had brought his usual black coffee.

“You staying?” he asked.

“Five minutes.”

“Big spender.”

I ended up staying twelve.

Maybe those twelve minutes had been worth more to him than anything I had brought through the hospice doors.