Yesterday I went to her home, and yes, she was there. I saw her, spoke to her briefly. But she was asleep, the sleep she will not awake from. Eventually--a day or two more, maybe five days, the hospice nurse told me--her heart will stop and she will stop breathing.
It was hard to see her that way. You know, she didn't look good. She is dying, and I don't know if that can look good.
I touched her shoulders. I scarcely knew what to say, but I told her I loved her and that we had a great friendship, told her to look for Wayne, told her goodbye. She may have heard me. The hospice nurse believes hearing is the last of the body's senses to die. But who really knows.
I know that was the last time I will see her in mortality.
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