aggie sat in her favorite chair enjoying the smell and warmth of the burning wood in the glowing fireplace. It was dark and snowing outside, but the living room felt comfortable and cozy where she set rubbing Mentholatum into the sore joints of her fingers -- the weather turned cold early this year causing her arthritis to flare-up.

She rubbed the last of the ointment in, then folded her hands and leaned her head against the back of the chair. Her tired body eased into its softness. She knew she was facing another long cold winter and, this year, the inevitable event about which she could not let herself think. She took a deep breath, letting it out with a long sigh.

Maggie glanced over at the well-worn chair next to her own, yearning to see Karl reclined where they had spent thousands of hours in conversation. At times, he reached for her hand to reassure her when she was troubled -- it never failed to make her feel better or remind her how much he loved her.

Together, they had gotten through some distressing times. Now, she felt alone and constantly tired. The pains in her chest were becoming almost unbearable, much worse than ever before. The doctor said she needed surgery, but that unthinkable at this time.

The television droned on, but Maggie had little interest in the news. For the past several years, her world existed within the boundaries of their home. Her eyes slipped from the chair to focus on the yellow-tinged black and white wedding picture she proudly displayed on the wall for almost fifty years. She still remembered the thrill she felt when the preacher pronounced them husband and wife.

On the doily-covered table below it sat pictures of their four children. She studied their faces through the dancing flames reflecting on the glass . . . treasuring her memories of each one.

For a few seconds, a smile obscured the lines and sadness on her face as she thought back to the wearisome times when she wondered if they would ever get them raised. Realizing how quickly the day came and how final her job had been, her smile faded.

She did not notice when the monotonous dialogue of the newscaster ended -- she was lost in her thoughts. Not until the tinkle of the little china bell did her thoughts return to the present. At once, she became alert to the sound that meant he needed her.

Maggie stared down the hall wondering when it became so long. It seemed such a short time ago when she flew down that hall at the slightest whimper from one of the children. Now, from the many trips to his bedside, she knew it took fifteen pain-racked steps to get to him in the back room where he lay captive. Osteocarcinoma was an apt, evil-sounding name for the loathsome disease that kept him imprisoned by pain. Pressure and exertion were foes ready to shatter his porous skeleton at any time. She must go to him.

She pushed herself from the chair, but her painful joints gave way and she fell back. Slumping down, she took a breath, then pushed again, finally, making it to her feet. She stood still for a few seconds to get her balance, then moved toward the hall. Thankfully, her protests went unheeded by her sons and they installed rails when her arthritis became worse. She held tightly, moving forward slowly.

When she reached the tiny guest room, she pushed open the door. The faces of the many friends and loved ones it welcomed over the years flashed through her mind. Its walls enveloped so many happy memories. It had remained undisturbed far too long. Reluctantly, she turned away, switching on the light to penetrate the hall's darkness her eyes no longer could.

Shifting cautiously towards Allison's room, the image of their only daughter flooded her thoughts. She smiled and her eyes glistened from the memory of her turning and twisting in front of her medley of mirrors that still lined the walls. Maggie's heart filled with pride thinking of Allison's loveliness the night of her senior prom . . . she sang and danced around happily while dressing, with her radiance bouncing off every mirrored surface.

The deep creases on Maggie's cheeks filled with tears remembering Allison's glowing face the day of her wedding. She was a white haze of enchantment and beauty as she floated from mirror to mirror. Karl's face reflected both sadness and pride as he hesitantly escorted his little girl down the aisle.

The tinkling bell, again, brought Maggie back to the present.

Brushing the tears away with the back of her hand, she turned to continue down the long hall. She winced in pain when her knee gave way, but she grabbed the rail before falling. Stepping carefully, she slowly approached the boys' room and paused for a minute to rest.

Pain, more intense than when she had her heart attack, gripped her chest, robbing her of breath. She prayed silently, "Dear God, not now, please."

She leaned her head against the door, listening to the silence. She pushed it open. The room was so orderly. Holding the rail tightly, Maggie closed her eyes. The boisterous play and clamorous laughter of Ron and Kevin resounded through her memory. They were both so different, but also alike.

How she longed to see the chaos of their sports equipment scattered across the room; or their clothes tossed on the bed and hanging from every convenient protrusion. She smiled, they were so handsome. Both, in their own way, reminded her of Karl. She was so proud of her sons and missed them so much. She was always delighted when they visited.

The jingling startled her. Feeling weak, she steadied herself, and, again, moved forward.

As she passed Jeremy's room, she lovingly rubbed her hand along the door. He was the baby and, out of habit, the door remained ajar. The smell of baby powder and lotion filled her senses. Sometimes she sat in the rocking chair in his room where she had rocked him to sleep hundreds of times.

How they had enjoyed watching him grow. He was an unplanned blessing and the focus of their lives after the older children left home.

A vision of Karl holding him and rocking him all night as he slept never faded. Because of a bad dream, Jeremy was wakeful the night before. So, as Karl rocked him to sleep, he promised not to leave. Even though he had to work the next day, he did not disappoint him.

She yearned to go in and set a while, but she must go -- he needed her.

The large bedroom they shared for so many years, now resembled a hospital room. The beautiful Victorian bed was in the garage, replaced by a large adjustable hospital bed for her suffering husband. The windows, once adorned with lacy curtains that fluttered in the fresh soft breeze, were now covered with heavy drapes to keep the light from his inflamed eyes.

On the bedside table was an array of articles that kept him only passably comfortable. A wheelchair sat, unused, against the wall at the end of the day bed where, since the onset of his pain, she slept. The little bell was always under his pillow.

Her mechanical smile waned a little as she entered the room. The scent of cancer and pending death were almost intolerable. Karl writhed in pain amid a tangle of wet sheets -- she wished he would ring before the pain got so bad.

Maggie, herself a nurse, was grateful she could give him the injections that only dulled the intensity of his pain. She rushed to his side and prepared the sedative of 100 milligrams of morphine.

Pulling the sheet from his gaunt body, she plunged the needle deep into the muscle of his bruised and pierced hip. He did not even flinch. It only helped for a few minutes, but, maybe, he could whisper the few words she waited for each day before he yielded to the fatigue of his suffering. As few as they were, it helped soothe her loneliness and need to hear his voice..

Slowly and gently she bathed his feverish body and changed the sweat-soaked sheets. As she leaned over to turn his pillow, he reached up and weakly grasped her wrist, bringing her hand slowly to his mouth.

Once again, tears spilled down her face as she remembered the strong arms that once held her close. She fell asleep thousands of nights musing to the rhythm of his heart beating, I'm safe, I'm safe, I'm safe.

Desire and longing for the closeness of their love making suddenly overwhelmed her. She yearned for the gentle touch of his hands, the warm breath of his passion on her face, the whispered words that made her feel so loved, so needed.

Maggie looked deep into the eyes that were once brilliant and blue. Now, they were faded and dull, reflecting the months of pain he had endured. They pleaded with her, but, knowing what they were asking, she looked away. They had talked, even argued, about it many times.

"All I ask is don't let me suffer and be a burden when there is no hope," he had said. She always stopped him by saying, "Don't ask me to do such a thing," and changed the subject.

But, that was when they were young and healthy. The thought of having to deal with such a dilemma was too remote for her to even consider. But, now. . . . She wondered if he sensed this time would come.

Maggie looked back at him. His eyes filled and ran over, his unwavering gaze was imploring. Her own tears flowed, soaking the front of her robe. She thought she heard him whisper, "Please."

Never-ending pain is all he has left, she thought, laying her head on his chest. This powerful hardy man who played ball for hours with his boys; and comforted his, occasionally, broken-hearted daughter in his big arms, now lay helplessly in torture. All because of a minuscule little virus.

The doctor said it would only get worse before the end. Only yesterday, she had asked him, "How long?"

"I can't say for sure. A week maybe two. No longer." He had replied.

Two weeks, she thought. How could he endure two more weeks of agony?

Blinking away the tears, she turned to the table and picked up the large bottle of morphine. It was almost full. Doctor Harcourt's words rang loudly in her mind.

"One hundred milligrams every four hours is all his respiratory system can tolerate at this stage of his illness. But, . . . " He had paused, shrugged his shoulders and turned away without finishing.

She looked back into Karl's pleading eyes, still brimming with tears. He cared for her, protected her, kept her safe for so long, she thought. In silence, she studied his dismal, tormented face. With a deep sigh, Maggie resolutely turned back to the table and took out four syringes.

The pain clutched at her chest again. She held to the table with her back to Karl so he could not see her face. She felt weak and short of breath, and, once again, prayed, "God, please, not now."

Black spots danced before her eyes. She held tightly to the table until the pain subsided. Then, bracing herself, she picked up one of the syringes.

Purposely and methodically, she filled each one to its capacity of five milliliters -- she would not allow herself to think how many milligrams of the fluid that might be. Leaving them on the table, she turned back to him.

She avoided looking at his face as she gently removed the IV needle from his arm, tossing the tubing and bag into the trash. For a few seconds, she stared at it scornfully, then picked up the syringe and looked at him.

Her heart pounded . . . he was smiling. She could not remember the last time she had seen the splendor of that smile. Holding the needle, she ardently searched deep within his eyes for a long time. Slowly, he nodded. That one scan movement caused his face to cloud with pain.

An uncontrollable sob escaped her. Years of training caused her hands to shake in defiance, but her mind was made up. Again, he did not flinch as she injected his weary body. Without taking her eyes from his, she laid the empty syringe on the table, pushed the blanket aside and eased in next to him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she could, again, hear his heart beating I'm safe, I'm safe, I'm safe.

As the medicine began to ease his pain, his arms slowly drew her close. Once more, she lay in the safekeeping of his embrace. It had been so long.

Maggie began to talk of their years together-- she knew they were not all good, but, somehow, they were the only ones she could remember. As she talked about each of the four children created from their love, he drew her closer.

Again, she saw him smile when she spoke of how hard it was to persuade Jeremy to sleep in his own room. For years he had sneaked into their room and they laughed when they woke up to find him sleeping on the day bed. Now, he, like his big brothers and sister, was grown -- a handsome, strong, successful young man -- their baby.

When Karl's arms relaxed and his breathing became halting and uneven, Maggie knew it would not be long. Her tear-choked voice quivered and paused, but she kept talking. When his breathing became inaudible and she no longer felt the rise and fall of his chest, she kept talking. When his arms slackened, she turned to him and, holding him close, she kept talking. But, at length .. . . she grew silent.

Looking up into his face, she kissed his mouth. For the last time, she felt his warm breath flow over her face as he whispered, "I love you, Maggie. You did right."

She lay still, never wanting to move out of his arms. Her mind cried out, "This isn't the way it was supposed to be!" They intended to lock up the house and leave on the first day of his retirement. They had things to do and places to go they only dreamed of for so long. They figured it wise to have a check up before leaving.

They teasingly told the children they planned to drop dead on the beach wrapped in each others’ arms from old age -- probably after a day of scuba diving in the beautiful waters of the Caribbean.

She could not think of a place she would rather die than in his arms. Their love had never become mundane. Karl could not be close to her without reaching to touch her. . . his touch never ceased to thrill her.

As his retirement drew closer, they made their stories more outrageous. How they laughed at the glances the children exchanged, especially enjoying the increasing concern on the faces of the boys. Allison, with her sharp-witted understanding, just smiled and played along -- sadly shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders at her befuddled brothers.

What wonderful plans they made to finish their lives together. If they just had not gone for that check-up, maybe. . . . But, no, Maggie knew better than to think like that. It just was not meant to be.

As if not to disturb him, she slowly moved out of his arms and stood by the bedside. The pain gripped again and darkness clouded the room. She held her breath and leaned against the table until it ebbed, enabling her to see and breathe normally.

Letting go with one hand, she picked up the syringe. Closing her eyes, she quickly thrust the needle into her thigh, emptying the contents into her body. Then she picked up the second one, then the third one until they were all empty.

When she opened her eyes, she was staring down the long hall. As if in celebration, she smiled -- she would never have to make that painful walk again. She looked back at the bed. His body was still and, with his face relaxed and free of pain, he was as handsome as the day they married.

She realized the need to hurry, so she picked up a pen and started writing. She told the children how much they both loved them and begged them to understand that she could not live without him. Her life would be empty and meaningless -- they were one.

Knowing they probably would not understand made her sad. She wished desperately she could spare them, but could think of no way. She laid the note on the table and, looking up, begged God's forgiveness.

After calling for the ambulance, she put a tape of their favorite love songs into the tape player and turned it down low. Glancing down the long hall one last time, she smiled at the pictures of their children and grandchildren adorning the wall. Then, gently, she eased herself back into his arms.

She missed the comforting rhythmic sound, but Karl's arms were around her and she was safe. It was difficult to open her eyes -- she so welcomed the peaceful serenity. But, before surrendering to the merciful tranquillity, she looked up into his face and whispered, "I love you too, Karl, I truly love you, too."

They did not hear the siren cut through the quiet darkness and stop in the driveway. The oldest of the paramedics got out of the ambulance and said, "I'll go ahead and do an assessment. You two bring the equipment."

He knew the house well. He was here last year when Maggie Mallory had her heart attack. It was a bad one. He remembered his surprise when Dr. Harcourt said she recovered and went home.

Entering the house he rushed down the long hall toward the room where the soft glow of light fell on the carpet. He stepped in and stopped. Sucking in his breath loudly, he stood and stared in wonder.

He saw at once there would be no hurry, but he could not stop staring. He gradually let out his breath. He was unable to remember, in all his years of experience, ever viewing a scene like the one before him.

They lay facing each other, his arms encircled her frail body holding her close to his own. Her face was turned up to his, with her hand in a motionless caress affixed to his cheek and they were actually smiling. The sides of their mouths were still upturned, their cheeks pushing the corners of their eyes into a crimped appearance.

He slowly shook his head, a sad sorrowful smile tightened his own lips. He had seen many stiff grimaces in death that gave the semblance, but they were genuinely smiling.

Feeling like an intruder, he quietly walked over to the side of the bed. A quick assessment of the diseased body explained almost everything. Feeling an urge to protect their privacy, he pulled the sheet over their faces. For the first time, he realized the tape player was on and swallowed hard as the voices of Diana Ross and Lionel Richie blended together in a song of "Endless Love."

Glancing at the table, he switched off the tape player and picked up the note and read it. He saw the large empty vile, prescribed by Dr. Harcourt, and, knowing he would agree, made a swift decision.

He picked up the four empty syringes and IV needle and put them in his pocket. Carefully, he tore off the part of the note that begged forgiveness, leaving only the declaration of love for their children. To avoid its precise intent, he placed it in the drawer of the bedside table where they could find it later.

He leaned over and reached into the trash basket just before the other two paramedics came through the door. When they entered, one of them said, "Oh, no. Looks like we're too late, huh?"