The expression is “at death’s door.” That is where Shirley is lingering. As someone in the middle of my life, it is hard to imagine what it might feel like on that edge of life/death. My Aunt Mary, when she was very close to death, called in all the family and had a Thanksgiving celebration, even if was September, even if she was no longer able to eat. We still had the feast with all the fixings. Now, my Aunt Mary was not an ordinary woman. She was excited about dying; she wanted to know what came next. There was no fear, just an almost childlike excitement.

Shirley, no longer eating, filled with cancer, so close to death, is perfectly at ease. I picture clutching, clinging, grabbing at the last of one’s life. Not so with Shirley. She is perfectly calm, making jokes with visitors, smiling, appreciative. She apologized for sticking around and being a bother to her family. I suggested that they want to fill her with loving while she is still around; she smiled and accepted that. It has seemed for a long time that Shirley had had enough of this life and wanted to get it over with. I guess she really meant it. I had written about my personal anxiety that had emerged with visiting someone who was dying. Shirley has helped me shift away from that. I go for a few minutes, scratch where she itches, give her some water, make her laugh, and leave there having caught her ease.