The Comfort of Cycles

A few years ago, I stood by the bedside of a friend who was dying. As his sister whispered a litany of thanksgiving for his life and gently reminded him of all that he did and all that he was, his wife of over almost 50 years stroked his forehead.

Dean was breathing intermittently and open-mouthed, a sign of impending death. I took note of his labored br…