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"
Let
me
guess
,
"
Willow
said
.
"
‘
Fire
and
Rain
’
?
"
Mom
nodded
and
she
and
Willow
started
laughing
and
soon
everyone
at
the
table
was
cracking
up
so
hard
that
tears
ran
down
our
faces
.
And
then
we
were
crying
,
even
me
,
who
didn
’
t
know
Kerry
all
that
well
.
Crying
and
laughing
,
laughing
and
crying
.
"
So
what
now
?
"
Adam
asked
Mom
when
we
’
d
calmed
down
.
"
Still
harbor
a
soft
spot
for
Mr
.
Taylor
?
"
Mom
stopped
and
blinked
hard
,
which
is
what
she
does
when
she
’
s
thinking
about
something
.
Then
she
reached
over
to
stroke
Dad
’
s
cheek
,
a
rare
demonstration
of
PDA
.
"
In
my
ideal
scenario
,
my
bighearted
pushover
husband
and
I
die
quickly
and
simultaneously
when
we
’
re
ninety
-
two
years
old
.
I
’
m
not
sure
how
.
Maybe
we
’
re
on
a
safari
in
Africa
—
’
cause
in
the
future
,
we
’
re
rich
;
hey
,
it
’
s
my
fantasy
—
and
we
come
down
with
some
exotic
sickness
and
go
to
sleep
one
night
feeling
fine
and
then
never
wake
up
And
no
James
Taylor
.
Mia
plays
at
our
funeral
.
If
,
that
is
,
we
can
tear
her
away
from
the
New
York
Philharmonic
.
"
Dad
was
wrong
.
It
’
s
true
you
might
not
get
to
control
your
funeral
,
but
sometimes
you
do
get
to
choose
your
death
.
And
I
can
’
t
help
thinking
that
part
of
Mom
’
s
wish
did
come
true
.
She
went
with
Dad
.
But
I
won
’
t
be
playing
at
her
funeral
.
It
’
s
possible
that
her
funeral
will
also
be
mine
.
There
’
s
something
comforting
in
that
.
To
go
down
as
a
family
.
No
one
left
behind
.
That
said
,
I
can
’
t
help
thinking
Mom
would
not
be
happy
about
this
.
In
fact
,
Mama
Bear
would
be
absolutely
furious
with
the
way
events
are
unfolding
today
.
I
’
m
back
where
I
started
.
Back
in
the
ICU
.
My
body
,
that
is
.
I
’
ve
been
sitting
here
all
along
,
too
tired
to
move
.
I
wish
I
could
go
to
sleep
.
I
wish
there
was
some
kind
of
anesthesia
for
me
,
or
at
least
something
to
make
the
world
shut
up
.
I
want
to
be
like
my
body
,
quiet
and
lifeless
,
putty
in
someone
else
’
s
hands
.
I
don
’
t
have
the
energy
for
this
decision
.
I
don
’
t
want
this
anymore
.
I
say
it
out
loud
.
I
don
’
t
want
this
.
I
look
around
the
ICU
,
feeling
kind
of
ridiculous
.
I
doubt
all
the
other
messed
-
up
people
in
the
ward
are
exactly
thrilled
to
be
here
,
either
.
My
body
wasn
’
t
gone
from
the
ICU
for
too
long
.
A
few
hours
for
surgery
.
Some
time
in
the
recovery
room
.
I
don
’
t
know
exactly
what
’
s
happened
to
me
,
and
for
the
first
time
today
,
I
don
’
t
really
care
.
I
shouldn
’
t
have
to
care
.
I
shouldn
’
t
have
to
work
this
hard
.
I
realize
now
that
dying
is
easy
.
Living
is
hard
.
I
’
m
back
on
the
ventilator
,
and
once
again
there
’
s
tape
over
my
eyes
.
I
still
don
’
t
understand
the
tape
.
Are
the
doctors
afraid
that
I
’
ll
wake
up
mid
-
surgery
and
be
horrified
by
the
scalpels
or
blood
?
As
if
those
things
could
faze
me
now
.
Two
nurses
,
the
one
assigned
to
me
and
Nurse
Ramirez
,
come
over
to
my
bed
and
check
all
my
monitors
.
They
call
out
a
chorus
of
numbers
that
are
as
familiar
to
me
now
as
my
own
name
:
BP
,
pulse
ox
,
respiratory
rate
.
Nurse
Ramirez
looks
like
an
entirely
different
person
from
the
one
who
arrived
here
yesterday
afternoon
.
The
makeup
has
all
rubbed
off
and
her
hair
is
flat
.
She
looks
like
she
could
sleep
standing
up
.
Her
shift
must
be
over
soon
.
I
’
ll
miss
her
but
I
’
m
glad
she
’
ll
be
able
to
get
away
from
me
,
from
this
place
.
I
’
d
like
to
get
away
,
too
.
I
think
I
will
.
I
think
it
’
s
just
a
matter
of
time
—
of
figuring
out
how
to
let
go
.
