There is a certain beep to the machines within a hospital that will never change it goes on and on, reminding one of life while also holding onto the idea of death. There is nothing we can do sometimes and that hurts deep within because there are people for whom we care more about than ourselves, and we need need them to be okay. There is not a fix for skin and bones, for laying in bed watching day after day despite the odds because one can only be there to hold their hand to let them know that we are there, and we love them. There has to be that human connection, that knowledge that they are not alone, that we will drop everything and anything to be there in a heartbeat, amongst the beeping and beds and tears and the love and the hope.