I remember him, but not his name; stoic, a keen intellect, just shy of government-sanctioned retirement age. A mountain of hospital bills added to the depression he was being treated for. As his patient advocate, I had helped him navigate the systems purporting to aid the needy; consoled him when he was distraught; was his voice when he could not speak for himself. Finally, I made one last visit to his boarding house to solidify strategy for his hearing and the process was nearing the end. His bed was stripped bare; his prescription bottles empty. He’d chosen his own ending.
As a retired nurse, Sandra Hudson is navigating her way through retirement in a pandemic. She loves reading, writing, and travel. Her family is her heart.