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Quote by Darnell Lamont Walker

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Darnell Lamont Walker

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“It's so weird the way people started smoking again," said Sailor. "You might not know this, but everyone stopped smoking for years and years. And then, boom." "What's your theory?" Again, I knew she'd have one. We loved our theories. "My theory is people decided everything else was fucked, so it didn't even matter anymore. They might as well kill themselves in the manner of their own choosing.”

DeathDyingSmokingDesperationTheoriesCigarettes
Book:The Island of Last Things
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“Oh, we talked about CAT scan results and prostate-specific antigen levels and, among ourselves, we acknowledged that this was serious, that probably he wouldn't be around next Christmas. But we never, ever, talked about the process of his dying and how we were going to manage it. We never talked about how we would care for him, how we could keep him at home, how we might patch up any tears in our relationships with him, or how we might make his last days more comfortable. We never asked him about his fears, his needs, or his wishes so we never knew how he felt, except for what he revealed in one or two brief comments he made during those final days. We never talked about what we were about to lose, how that loss would occur, how we would say good-bye, or how very much we would miss him.”

DeathGriefDying
Book:Talking About Death Wont Kill You
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“On the table in the center of the room stood a fake Christmas tree, and as she chose a seat in the corner so she could plug in her phone, she remembered it was Maggie Woodwell who'd hoped Ned would make it through Christmas for the sake of their kids. She didn't want his passing to ruin the holiday forever, a fear Kitzi understood, but, cruel as it was, maybe because she'd almost lost Martin, she'd come to accept that death shadowed every day. She'd once thought she'd never get used to it, yet how many times had she waited like this while her friends said their final goodbyes? It was her specialty, it seemed.”

DeathWaitingDyingHospitalsGoodbyesVigils
Book:Evensong
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“My charge's wife swept in, set some clean towels on the love seat, went rushing back out again. The stacked towels toppled off the love seat. All but one. The fallen towels landed in a heap of plastic detritus from his various medications, near a set of fresh, folded pajamas, which he now would never wear, and a stack of books he now would never read. Everything in the room was touched with the chaos that disrupted the operating energy of a household at such a time and showed that, all along, the appearance of control had been an illusion.”

DeathDyingControlEveryday LifeHousekeeping
Book:Vigil
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