Every week, someone from our family, usually my mom, goes to Wendy's and gets six chocolate Frostys. With significant mobility and communication difficulties after multiple brain surgeries and a terminal diagnosis, Gretchen chose hospice care in January of 2025. Although many associate hospice only with care around the time of a person's death, it actually just means that the goal shifts from treatment to quality of life, however long that may be.
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When my mom was dying, hospice came daily and stayed for about ninety minutes. They answered questions, checked what needed to be checked, and did what good professionals do: They made a brutal situation feel slightly less impossible. And then they left. Ninety minutes go fast when you are watching your mother decline. The rest of the day stretches out in a way that does not feel like time so much as exposure. Every sound becomes a data point.
Sometime in the summer of 2017 I wrote in my journal, Jesus fucking Christ, please save me. I was trapped in hell, and I could see no way out. Our beautiful, sunny, two-bedroom penthouse apartment in the East Village which I had rented for Rayya to make her happy in the last months of her life had become a dungeon of misery, danger, degradation, drugs.
"For example, we proposed to keep our benefits the same as they are now. We just wanted them protected under a contract," Tobin said. "[Hospice East Bay] said no, they want the right to make them worse. And so, that's been really shocking and disappointing."