Devotions

So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord." 2 Corinthians 5:6-8

The hall was full of sounds, small sounds that didn't amount to much altogether; machines beeping and rolling carts clicking rhythmically on the tile and hushed conversations from some of the rooms; quiet because for some reason everybody seemed to whisper in hospitals.

Hogan had the number memorized, he'd looked at it a dozen times since he'd written it down, but his memory wasn't as good as it had been and he absolutely hated to walk into the wrong room.

But no, it was room 313, just like he'd known it would be, in that slightly shaken scrawl with the ink stain at the bottom of the last 3 where his pen had rested.

The door was slightly ajar. He knocked quietly.

There was a soft gasp, and then a creaking and shuffling, and then the door opened the rest of the way.

The elderly lady standing before him adjusted her glasses just slightly. "You must be Colonel Hogan?"

"That's right, ma'am. And you're Mrs. Foster?" He shook her hand.

"Yes. Come in." She stepped back. "Thomas was so glad to hear you were coming. Sit down."

His back protested a bit when he sat, and then he put an arm out as Mrs. Foster carefully seated herself.

"How's he been?" Hogan looked at the man. He was asleep, and sickly gray and still. In all their years at Stalag 13 there had been one night, after a particularly draining mission, where Foster had dragged himself up on his bunk, collapsed, and not stirred until morning. It had been alarming - the man was a chaotic sleeper.

She drew a breath. "The doctors..." She looked down at her hands, slim and wrinkled, and then reached out to take Foster's hand. "This is it. We've got - a few weeks. Maybe."

Carter had told him as much over the phone. Hogan shouldn't have expected anything different.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," He said gently. "He's had a good life."

She nodded, and blinked back tears. "He talks about you a lot. You meant a lot to him."

"And he means a lot to me, and all of us who were in the camp. He helped a lot of people." Hogan paused as she yawned. "Have you gotten much sleep?"

She shook her head. "Not much. The kids come when they can but they've got their own lives, you know."

Hogan put a hand on her shoulder. "If you'd like, you can go home and get some rest, I'll stay here."

She looked up. "Would you really?"

"If you like I can call you a taxi?"

She shook her head, "No, I still drive. Thank you so much, Colonel - oh, General, isn't it."

"I've been retired quite a while now, you can call me Robert."

She almost laughed. "I couldn't do that. I only ever heard of you as Colonel Hogan. Thank you so much." She stood up. "I'll be back in..."

"Take as long as you need, my flight doesn't leave until tomorrow."

She smiled. "Then I'll be back when I can."

She looked at her husband one more moment, and left.

Hogan looked at the empty spot in the doorway another minute or two, and then back at Foster.