The COVID19 catering coordinator, asks if he wants applesauce with his dinner? “I don’t know, can’t you see he’s dying? “Don’t you see he’s gasping for air and how his wheezing makes his whole body quiver? Do you think he cares about applesauce?” A nurse checks in for a situation report. “How many shots of morphine has he had?” We’re here alone. He asleep; me awake honoring the process. I don’t know his name. I’m here for our brief friendship. “It’s John, my name’s John, thank you so much for staying with me.” Dying is emotionally exhausting for the living.
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