had any right to ask you to be.
My knees gave out.
I ended up sitting on the floor beside the bed with the letter in my hands.
I read it once.
Then again.
David had written it in the winter of 2019.
Three years before he became ill.
At the time, his brother Gerald had been seriously sick.
David had watched Gerald’s wife, Patricia, become consumed by caregiving.
She stopped sleeping.
Stopped eating.
Stopped seeing friends.
Her husband’s illness became her entire identity.
David wrote that everyone focused on
