“What now?” I say. “Now you write your suicide note.” “I need paper.” Oran rummages in his desk. He pulls out a sheet of thick, creamy parchment paper. Only the best for Uncle Oran. “What do you want me to write?” Oran tilts his head back, eyes closed, as he thinks about what it should say. I lift his gold-plated pen off its stand. “Dear family,” he begins. “I’m so sorry to do this to you. But I think it’s for the best. I’m in so much pain. I just can’t take it anymore . . . ”
