I was caring for a patient who was very close to the end of life. He was in and out of consciousness not eating, barely drinking, and had been refusing his nursing visits. He allowed me to come and it was the first time I had met him. I had given him a hand massage and he asked if we could hold hands for a bit because my skin was soft. Then he looked at me and asked if I would honestly answer a question. I said yes. He asked, “am I dying?” With a lump in my throat I said, “yes, you are dying.” We sat together, holding hands, with quiet tears running down our cheeks.