Laying on two beds just four feet apart, a curtain in between.

On the right, an elderly man:

His hair is mostly gone, receded past his ears, grey and white wherever it may remain.

His skin is like and old rag, worn from time, browned from the sun, speckled and scarred from a life of adventure.

His back is bent and his knees are weak. He has traveled far and worked hard everyday of his life, a life worth commending.

His eyes are half closed, the lids sagging over until he has to lift his eyebrows just to look up.

But his eyes are full of life, a life of love.

On the other side there is a good woman and a loving husband, they hold hands and cry a bit in joy, with smiles stuck to their faces.

They can’t believe it, but yet it lays there in her arms:

Just a small boy, his hair sparse and dark. It’s a mess, plastered down in places with gross fluid from the woman’s womb, the cleaning didn’t quite cut it.

His skin, pale, but healthy and clean. (Mostly, he was just born after all)

His back and knees, not yet as strong as they will be. Just a ball of clay ready to be modeled.

And his eyes, they have yet to open.

The parents watch earnestly, waiting to see their babies first glance, hoping he will look at them. They get distracted by a heart monitor just four feet away.

The heart monitor on the elderly man begins to beep further and further apart, and as it beeps it’s last time he closes his eyes for the very last time.

As the pauses grow and the beeps silence all together, they look back to their child. He looks back with eyes wide open, eager to see this new place.