I have never felt a more appropriate, and desperate but welcomed isolation as sitting in that empty hospital waiting room several hours after most entrances have closed, even hours after the lights have dimmed and the carpets have been vacuumed. It's not the same place as with the people, and the noise, and the paperwork, and the tv. Strangly inviting and sinisterly peaceful. That second standing there turns into long minutes. I've been here before, and felt this before. God - - everything slows down allowing for, almost forcing me to think; but my mind wanders from emptyness, to what I did wrong last time, to the desparation in her voice when she cried aloud for them to leave her alone. I think to myself there's nothing more I can do, but I know it's a lie. When the tears threaten I take a step, asserting my priorities, and leave her there - in that room - alone - scared - confused - and probably dying.