The death of two parents spread over such a chasm of time reassures me that I have grown up. had feared the brutal spectacle and harsh rattle of death. I had feared being alone with her at the final judgmental moment of leaving, feared I would abandon her and not offer a last comfort, that split second of reassurance as she left. Yet none of those fears came true.
I open the door to step back into the room, and he is already asleep again. Sitting in the chair by his bed. The effort to get dressed and move to the chair was too much. He is spent. His lungs are filled with fluid, and he no longer has the physical strength to cough it up. They are giving him medicine designed to help, and he tries, but he just can't get it out anymore.