ADVERTISEMENT
inside said: I miss you. Merry Christmas. Lara. She collapsed sobbing. Vincent held her.
I did not see that. I was already gone.
On February 23, I was in MGH operating room 12 at 6:00 a.m. The room was cold, sixty-five degrees. Steel tables, blue drapes, bright lights.
“Count backward from ten,” the anesthesiologist said.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
I am doing the continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT