“You had a medical event.” A voice addresses me. My confusion increases.
I was driving back home from coffee with a friend.
“You killed another driver, head on, and you killed yourself.”
My children. My grandchildren. The other driver’s family. What have I done?
My son begged me to live with him because of my seizures.
Mom, please, you won’t be a burden.
The passageway’s walls swim around me. I search for the voice. “I’m so sorry. Can I have a do-over?”
The silence crushes me.
What price my independence?