“Take the plaque—the one with the cats on it. I know you love cats.”
She paused. I expected her to punctuate the statement with a swig from the vodka jar she kept by her side, but she didn’t.
“And those birds, the origami ones—take those too. My friend made them specially for me. My son will just throw them away…
…when I’m gone.
The unspoken words echoed through the silent room.
“They’re coming tomorrow at ten o’clock,” she whispered. “The Right to Die people.”
All I could find to say was, “Thank you.”
Story by Mollie Hunt
Photo by Soroush Zagar at Unsplash