When I was in seventh grade, I was a volunteer at a local hospital in my town. I worked about thirty to forty1a week during the summer. Most of the time I spent there was with Mr. Gillespie. 2seemed to care about his condition and he never had any visitors.
I spent many days there holding his hand and 3to him. He became my close friend, even though he reacted with only a squeeze (捏) of my 4from time to time. Mr. Gillespie was in a coma (昏迷).
I left for a week to vacation with my parents, and when I5, Mr. Gillespie was gone. I didn't have the 6to ask the nurses where he was. I was afraid that they might tell me he had 7.
Several years later, I was at the gas station when I 8a familiar face. I asked him if he was Mr. Gillespie, 9if he had been in a coma five years ago. With an uncertain look on his face, he replied yes. I 10how I knew him and that I had spent many hours talking with him in the hospital. His eyes became wet and he gave me the 11hug I had ever received.
He began to tell me how he could hear me talking to him and could 12me holding his hand the whole time. He thought it was an angel, who was there with him. He13believed that it was my voice and touch that had kept him alive.
14I haven't seen him ever since, he fills my heart with happiness every day. I know that I made a 15between his life and his death. I will never forget him and what he did for me: he made me an angel.
