And I just sat there for a few more minutes, processing that after eleven months of fear and uncertainty and surgeries and doctors and appointments and Carmel trips back and forth to Sloan and final goodbyes with friends and pain episodes and intimacy and closure and colostomy bags and shotgun weddings and heart-to-hearts out on the deck . . . it would all soon be over. And for an instant I felt a fleeting sense of relief. For Kit. For Kit’s parents. And for me.
