worthlivingfor.Andastheweeksstretchedintomonths,
it seemed like he could continue this way a long time.
In retrospect, there were signs that he couldn’t. His
weightcontinuedtodrop.Thedosesofpainmedication
herequiredwereincreasing.Duringthefirstcoupledays
ofAugust,Ireceivedaseriesofgarblede-mails.“Dear
Atuli whohirnd li9ke Sude,” began one. The last one said:
Dear Atul
sorry for scrambeled letth ter. i having problems.
-With love
Dad-
Onthephone,hespokemoreslowly,withlongpauses
betweensentences.Heexplainedthathesometimesfelt
confused and was having trouble communicating. His
e-mailswerenotmakingsensetohim,hesaid,although
hethoughttheydidwhenhefirstwrotethem.Hisworld
was closing in.
Thenon Saturday,August6, at8:00 a.m.,my mother
called,frightened. “He’snot waking up,” shesaid. He
wasbreathing, but she couldn’trouse him. It wasthe
medication,wethought.Thenightbeforehe’dinsistedon
takinga wholetabletofbuprenorphine, anarcoticpill,
insteadofa halfpilllikehe’d beentaking,mymother
explained. She’d argued with him, but he’d become
angry. He wanted no pain, he said. Now he wasn’t
wakingup.Indoctormode,shenotedhispinpointpupils,
asignofanarcoticoverdose.Wedecidedtowaititout
and let the medication wear off.
Threehourslater,shephonedagain.Shehadcalledan
ambulance,notthehospiceagency.“Hewasturningblue,