A day with death is never a dead day. Possibly because I have sat with so many dying people in order to see how I fare. I am willing to take up the last oxygen and calm breathing of the soon-to-be-corpse and spurt my anxiety all over the sanctified room.
Don’t trust someone who volunteers with hospice. We come with agendas. Some have mothers or fathers or both who hate them and now want to find sweet empathy from some poor dying human stuck in a bed to absolve them of their self-hate and destruction.
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