Friday afternoon at the hospice center. I punch in and eye the “white board,” looking for empty white strips and unfamiliar names, quickly piecing together who has died, who is still living in this eighteen-bed facility. I start at the bottom of the list, Room 19 (no Room 13 here—these folks have had their fair share of bad luck). Room 19 is the stomping ground of the Delgado family.* Miguelito, five years old, with his bald pate and big eyes, is speeding up and down...
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