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Quote by Cheryl R Cowtan

“When the rabbit dies, the fox gets fatter When the fish dies, the otter gets fatter When the tree dies, the beaver gets fatter When the man dies, the Mortician gets fatter.”

Quote by Cheryl R Cowtan

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Cheryl R Cowtan

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“During the pandemic, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house, terrified I would find myself standing in the doorway of an ICU room, watching the doctors press their whole weight on the chest of my mother, my sisters, my children, terrified of the lurch of their feet, the lurch that accompanies each press that restarts the heart, the jerk of their pale, tender soles, terrified of the frantic prayer without intention that keens through the mind, the prayer for life that one says in the doorway, the prayer I never want to say again, the prayer that dissolves midair when the hush-click-hush-click of the ventilator drowns it, terrified of the terrible commitment at the heart of me that reasons that if the person I love has to endure this, then the least I can do is stand there, the least I can do is witness, the least I can do is tell them over and over again, aloud, I love you. We love you. We ain’t going nowhere.”

“We believe that having a longer duration of pain is worse than a shorter duration and that having a greater average level of pain is worse than having a lower average level. But this wasn’t what the patients reported at all. Their final ratings largely ignored the duration of pain. Instead, the ratings were predicted by what Kahneman termed the “Peak-End rule”: an average of the pain experienced at just two moments - the single worst moment of the procedure and the very end.”

“If you are what they call a "person of color," it seems your path will be beset with more challenges, setbacks, and villains than the rest. In addition to climate change, cancer, heart attacks, diabetes, and hypertension, this thing called racism--which some claim no longer exists--apparently also kills. Men of color, especially Black men and especially those who are poor, die younger than the rest.”

“She thought about their time at Bridge Builders Hospice: how people passed through those bedrooms like ghosts on wrecked rowboats, incapable of redirecting course from the approaching cliff. She had witnessed it many times: the moment dying became a letting, and the currents plunged their patients, headfirst, into waterfalls so misty it was like sailing through cloud. Resist it nor not, it made no difference.”