Peacefully, in her sleep
A rough day with the Knuckle yesterday. She'd been refusing food for about a week, refusing to exercise, refusing to speak or look directly at us. The combination was a final form of control, all that's left to us.
Would you like me to call a priest?
Why, am I dying?
Well, yes. If you don't eat, you will die.
But I'm not sure the Karen Carpenter diet was what did it. And I will never know.
What I do know is that she did not want to live on the second floor another day.
With her last hairdo behind her, she passed to an easier place. Possibly as surprised as the rest of us.
It's a kind of freedom, isn't it?