A Never-Ending Slumber

June 30, 2017

(The Globe and Mail) – January 11 was the day my best friend, Beverly, chose for her physician-assisted death. After 18 months of trying to outsmart lung cancer and agreeing to stick around through Christmas, the relief in her voice on the phone, a province away from me, was palpable. I booked my flight, grateful for the advance notice – in time to take advantage of Westjet’s seat sale, a small mercy for my bleak, black journey. Eight days passed, an eternity, and the morning sun shook me from my half-sleep in Calgary; shook me from my full denial. No alarm clock was needed to remind me that the time was nigh.

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