She wore the kind of exterior, that spoke of exhaustion. Homesick shadowed underneath her eyes as if home seem impossibly far away. Her sigh was slow and confused; holding secret pleas for peace and quiet. I wanted to grab her hand as she spoke, her voice a little shaky as if she could just collapse right there on thefloor and sleep for a year. I wanted to tell her the time of rest was near…wrap my arm around her shoulders, hold her up for little awhile. Tiredness being the culprit forming their slump. Heavy was her walk, grabbing her hip as if to will it forward for one more trip into his room. He was abrupt and demanding. Certaintly his attempt to hold on to control as his body was breaking down. She was the epitome of gentle social grace, under the pressure of his inconsiderate manner and poor treatment of others trying to help. My mind understood his frustration of age slowing him, perhaps his ego a little wounded relying on such feminity to aid him in his recovery, yet my heart couldnt help but ache for her; the relentless caregiver, grand gesture of devotion of a wife, to swallow her pain behind a smile. As I watched her walk out the door, in the middle of my work day, I think i saw her walk a little straighter and a little faster as the sunlight graced her face. I understand the restorative power of its warmth. I imagined as she slipped between the sheets on her side of the bed tonight she would remember the warmth of the sun and feel for a fraction of moment…warmth of peace spread across her chest.