A brain tumor.
Six months to live.
I hadn’t thought about death before my diagnosis, even as I am bombarded by news reports of the virus’ spread.
I had gone to Catholic school where they taught ‘creationism and heaven’ after breakfast and ‘evolution and eternal oblivion’ after lunch. I am still confused.
I visited my aunt after the virus got her. Strapped to the bed, eyes distant, teeth chattering. When I offered my arm, she hesitated before her new impulses took over and she saw meat.
Is it better to be undead than dead? As my mind fades, worry fades too.