In September my longstanding therapist died. I hadn’t seen her in a professional capacity for several years but I’d bumped into her in our local pathology clinic and known in an instant that she was ill. I could see the shadow of death hovering. I waited for her to speak of it – this illness – but she didn’t.
For months afterwards I fretted about her, wondering how she was, wondering if I would be told when the end got close, wondering if I needed to try to say goodbye.
