There's a hospice under construction across the street. Its name, like mine, includes Margaret. Kind of comforting, kind of creepy. In spite of its significant size, the building will accommodate just ten patients. Curious, and a bit confused, I track down the floor plan; the offices and mechanical rooms hold little interest but, should I ever be counted among the dying who live there, I'd value the chance to send someone to room 4.5 with my recycling. Old habits and all. The children's room is set a wise distance from the quiet area. Had they asked, I'd have placed the bereavement room closer to an exit for the times when it all becomes a bit much; placed grief closer to the stability and solace of the trees and the sky.
her doctor once placed
ice on a friend's dry tongue too.
advice? brace yourself
