Silence is Golden

Every day, my friend Staci's condition worsens so much so that you can see it. She is too weak to move into hospice so her remaining time will spent in the hospital and can now be measured in days or hours. I read another 30 pages or so today. She knew I came to read, but she really wasn't present for most of my time there. Her sleep is that fitful kind that dying brings. She alternatively coughs (which wakes her up) or she whimpers in psychic and physical discomfort. I hold one hand and her mom hold the other as she moans. Dying is not for wimps.