As I stood in a room where families know what words will come and how the book ends, his wife spoke in broken thoughts, her grief framed by an early October sun.
“He didn't want to be like this.”
Decisions—hard decisions—had been made. Treatment would be withdrawn, the ventilator would be stopped, and he would die . . . at the age of 45.
Simple as that.
She didn't complain of unfairness, the hardships of life, or the whereabouts of God—she merely expressed gratitude with an air of grace and dignity.