Everybody dies. We are born, we live, we age, and eventually we die. I don’t know exactly why I am writing this. Perhaps it is a need to rinse my soul—to push the images and feelings out of my mind and onto the page, to loosen the knot that has been tightening in my throat. I cannot quite believe what I endured this week, or how I managed to endure it at all. Sobbing convulsively became a repeated event—many times a day, for several days in a row. The heat, to which I have a severe hypersensitivity, caused me to collapse three times. I became dehydrated, my kidneys took a beating, my eyes swelled, and my legs ballooned until they looked like tree trunks. Everybody dies. My mother died. I say the words, but they still do not feel real. Just last week I was telling a friend how strong she was—healthy, energetic, dynamic. Then, the next day, everything changed. She had an accident, fell, fractured her femur, and was taken to the hospital. I called the emergency department from Canada and ...