I dial your...

I dial your number repeatedly and reflexively, always stopping short of the last digit. Although I know you cannot physically answer, I always wonder how the conversation would unfold if you could. "Hi sweetie, it's good to hear from you..." You were always so happy to hear my voice, always ready to hear my concerns. Should I have realized sooner that something was wrong when you stopped sharing your own concerns? In the past, my timid attempts to ask about your health were always met by quick words of reassurance. Maybe if I had been more forceful, more inquisitive, I could have intervened.

Would I have had the strength to ask you all of the questions I was afraid to ask when you were alive? What aspect of your disease troubled you the most? Were you tired of living? Why could you not tell anyone that you had made up your mind?

The last thing you said to me was that you were afraid. Why did you choose to die if you were so frightened?

I fear and do not understand my own mortality. What you did, was brave.