The Space Between
Life and Death

The Space Between
Life and Death

He watched her sleep for a while, then got up to make coffee. At 8 a.m. he woke his wife, propped her up, placed the first of seven pills on her tongue. He tipped a mug to her lips, rubbed her throat to help her swallow. He did it again and again. He brushed her teeth. Combed her hair.

 

“Thank you,” whispered Janice Solava.

 

“I told you so,” said her husband, Frank, smiling.

 

Years before, when they had finally gotten a diagnosis — when they had learned there was no cure — Frank had promised Jan he would never send her to some nursing facility. He would take care of her. At home.