One morning, as we ate sandwiches—mine had apples on it—a hawk appeared outside the hospital cafeteria window. Or no, it was not a cafeteria, it was a cafe. Which was meant, perhaps, to conjure a sense of normalcy. You could order paninis and mochas and bowls of soup. My husband and I sat there talking over our sandwiches, about what I can’t recall. The words are lost to me now, and yet it feels like only yesterday. When my mother arrived for her visit she immediately burst into tears. ...
