The fact of the matter is that the hospital killed him. They caused his death, not her.

Yes, there was blunt force trauma to the neck. But what killed him was the lack of care at the hospital.

You're trying to write about something that's sacred. You're trying to bring the seriousness of life and death to it, and you're trying to find a way to dramatize it, and you're trying to give language to it, which is inadequate. But it's important to try.

He would work through the night and sleep until lunch. There wasn't really much else to do. Make something, and die.

I don't believe in the death penalty, but I understand personal vengeance.

He saw it for the first time: on the day he died he would be wearing unmatching socks, there would be unanswered e-mails, and in the hovel he called home there would still be shirts missing cuff buttons, a malfunctioning light in the hall, and unpaid bills, uncleared attics, dead flies, friends waiting for a reply and lovers he had not owned up to.