When I finished I put my face in my hands and wept like a baby. My mother moved next to me on the sofa and held my head against her own as I blubbered about my dying lover. After a while I quieted and she said she wanted to see Gino. She held my hand as we went into the deathroom to let her take a look at him. She took his pulse professionally and examined the skin on his hands before asking me to pull down the coverlet so she could listen to his chest. While I was getting Gino ready, she took a stethoscope from the side pocket of her jacket and put the pieces in her ears. She thumped his back and listened to each side of his chest before she turned to me and said, “Honey, how long has he been like this?”