The Saturday Evening Post

HAVING THE TALK

At the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic I received a text from a high school friend: “Just FYI, my mother is in the hospital in NYC with a positive virus diagnosis. Not doing especially well but not unexpected at 87 years old.” What he meant was this: She’s dying.

I asked if I could call her, since she had been best friends with my mother for a lifetime, “She’s pretty weak, but I’m sure she would find talking with you heartening,” he replied. One minute later I called his mother, who coughed her way through a 90-second conversation, her lungs and airways choking with mucus, while I listened. Then I spoke. After, I texted my friend back: “I had a beautiful conversation with your mom. She said goodbye. I said goodbye. I am heartbroken for you and your sibs, but like my modrer she is indelible. And will always be with us.”

“I love you… goodbye.” Not many of us want to have that talk. It’s a collective denial of

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