My Neighbor passed away. She was next door and my othher friend who collages with me was her roomate. I was cutting out magazines with one friend while the other struggled for each breath and endured the comfort care of hospice which looked dangnabbed horrific. I never saw anyone on their death watch. Her daughter was there as much as she can.we talked.I felt like I should pray but she was not religious. I did it silently. Cancer caused unrelenting pain.They kept her snowed under. Yet she still wimpered ocasionally. Before her last week,she called for her mother in those obnoxious wee hours. I cried for mine in my pillow. Then the woman let go in some wee hour in her sleep state alone she left her suffering in her body that once brought her joy and gave her children life. The bed was empty without memory. I never saw her devoted daughter again. For once the suddenness of stroke seemed good to me. I knew her a brief moment at the very end of her life,which changed me somehow I need to process. We sat for days cutting out pictures representing life and being In the same room in which each day her connection to this life slipped. And outsde the room life went on. Outside this building.

Then one of our fellow bingo buddy residents had a big birthday party. He gave me a personal invite but all could attend. His sister provided a generous spread of real food and a glorious cake. He gave me the real white flower on top. He was happily fussing over the placement of plasticware. I felt guilty there was no signed card from all of us, no nothing but our sharing his moment.He was out running brain tumor stuff and fighting for each foothold in recovery. I was immediately fond of him and aware of his things. I never pretend to understand his speech. I respect listening by asking him to repeat. He knows our conversations are real.