This summer, I visited an old friend on her deathbed. Her literal deathbed. The bed she was lying in and waiting to die. It was exactly as awful as you’d imagine.
Her bedroom was cool and dark. Soft New Age music was playing, like you might hear in a massage therapist’s office. Nobody spoke over a whisper. There was a hospice nurse reading a book in the living room, waiting for the only possible outcome.
Her bedroom was cool and dark. Soft New Age music was playing, like you might hear in a massage therapist’s office. Nobody spoke over a whisper. There was a hospice nurse reading a book in the living room, waiting for the only possible outcome.






