Their answers were different and yet the same. They wanted time. To make good on old grudges. To relive their favorite days. To laugh. To love. Not one of them spoke about uprooting her whole life, of starting over or tearing down walls or chasing old professional ambitions or turning everything in her world on its head. Rather, every woman’s dying wish was to simply spend her final days—however many of them she had left—being able to exist in the simple quietness of her life. To have more time to enjoy and appreciate the beauty in that.
