She was one of my first patients—well born, feisty, loyal. A flirt. She came to me with her most trifling complaints—perhaps,
I secretly hoped, as an excuse to chat. Slender, elfin, twice a year at my office door she parked her Ford station wagon and
without a word laid a box of Godiva chocolates and a quart of Wild Turkey on the table. Eventually her daughters brought her
to Heavenly Rest, where she sits at her window and waits, unburdened by reason or regret.