It’s not a matter of how many goodbyes we have left, but how many hellos

We lost a friend to cancer this week. She was my mother’s age. I visited her a few hours before she died, and it was clear that she had only hours left. Those telltale signs: shallow, labored breathing; a hollowness about her cheeks; intermittent consciousness. She’d stopped eating and drinking. Edna was a large, vivacious woman who lived life independently and on her own terms. She wasn’t very social, and could be amazingly brusque and prickly at times, yet warm and engaging