“The bombs…listen…they’re seven klicks away.”
The night before my Grandpa died, he shared a story from the shadows of his hospital bed: he kept hallucinating about World War Two. Continue reading “Shadow Boxing”
“The bombs…listen…they’re seven klicks away.”
The night before my Grandpa died, he shared a story from the shadows of his hospital bed: he kept hallucinating about World War Two. Continue reading “Shadow Boxing”
He died mid-sentence. Eight years old and talking to me.
“My belly hurt, so I took some pepto from mom and-”
Eyes rolled up before they closed, his head lolled to the side, neck pulseless. Dead before we could hit the code button. An hour later, still dead. Continue reading “Why Do Doctors Write?”