If you’re dying, and someone tells you they’re “waiting ‘til the end” to come see you, believe them. And then put them off as long as you can. “Waiting ‘til the end” was something I heard for the first time — from someone who surprised me with her reluctance — when my mother was dying.
I didn’t know deferment in death (or deathbed visits) was an option. Because death doesn’t abide by schedules. It foregoes the niceties of invites and RSVPs.
It’s abrupt and rude and fickle as hell. Birth is, too, of course. But due dates give us some sense of pack-the-bag anticipation.
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