Dreams and Lullabies- Part 4

The room was dead silent except for the constant dripping coming from Paul’s IV. The sound was enough to drive a man mad, and was almost doing just that to those who surrounded Paul’s almost lifeless body. His mother, tissue in hand, sat to the right of Paul’s bed, holding his hand and covering it in tears. His father was out in the lobby getting coffee for him and his wife, for they hadn't slept in over 24 hours.
Among those who sat in the room consisted of Paul’s grandparents who sat on the couch that was brought in from the lobby, Paul’s best friends, Joe and Sam, stood behind Paul’s mother, and his little brother, John, sat crying in the corner. But of all of these people, the most beautiful person in the room was the lovely Marilyn.
She sat next to John, holding his hand and trying to comfort him, even though she herself was an emotional wreck. Her beauty rained supreme over everyone else’s ordinary looks; she was as beautiful as a white dove flying over a great sea, her hair was as bright as the sun, and her skin was like newly polished porcelain. And though she sat in a grim and dark room, her face was like an angel’s. Though her beauty was like a light in an abyss, her spirit was even brighter. If you could capture it, the blind would see, the deaf would hear, the mute could speak, and the cripple would walk and jump. She gave hope to those who had none, and at this point and time, hope was running low. She stood and walked to Paul’s mother, putting her hand on her shoulder, she began to speak, “I’m sorry, but I have to leave, my boss doesn't give anytime off unless it’s a family member in the hospital,” she said as her voice began to quiver.
“It’s okay my dear,” Paul’s mother said, grabbing Marilyn’s hand. These were the first words spoken by her in hours: she began to speak again, “You will come back, right?”
“Yes, as soon as I get off of work,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry,” she said as she began to walk out of the room. She waved good-bye to John, opening up the door. She shut the door and began to walk to the elevator, not stopping to say good-bye to Paul’s father because she was afraid she would become hysterical.
After watching Marilyn safely get onto the elevator, Paul’s father stepped into the room, coffee in hand. His clothing consisted of a pair of white tennis shoes, a pair of blue jeans, and a polo button up shirt stained with his wife’s tears. He sat the first cup of coffee next to his wife, she didn't touch the warm Styrofoam cylinder, nor did she even realize he had given it to her. He then sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the bed. He sat his coffee on his thigh, never lifting his hand to take a drink. He stared at his son’s closed eyes, thinking of all the times he had scolded his son instead of saying how much cared. He leaned in, coming close to his son’s ear, and started to whisper some words, tears streaming down his face.