Phillis Watkins Spengler is dying. I am honored to sit beside her, doing nothing. If I even try to gently cover her exposed left foot with a warm blanket, she quips, "Oh Sue, stop fussing!" There is nothing left for me to do but sit and wonder.
I wonder about the secrets she is taking with her off into her afterlife.
I wonder what she sees in her mind's eye.
I wonder what it feels like to know that you are dying.
I wonder about the cruel, beautiful irony of crossing over just as the apricot trees blossom here on earth.
I wonder at the miracle of being able to stand on two feet, and then to walk, and then to run.
I wonder how long it will be now.