James Sexton

Like you, they shut down.

The machine doesn't know to stop.

It keeps going.

Yeah, it's rough.

Oh, please.

My mom, like I remember thinking like, oh God, is this how I'm gonna remember her?

Like 70 pounds yellow and curled up like an insect, unconscious and breathing in this like horrifying, like something out of a movie.

Thank God the answer is no.

Like that's not how you remember, memory is kind.

Like that was a moment, it was hard to watch, it was hard to be there for, but she died the way people die.

Like people with cancer die that way, you know?

And that's like, that's natural.

And you would know it if you had the opportunity to be around it.

And I had a tremendous comfort in knowing like, oh yeah, this is how it goes.

Like I know what an agonal breath sounds like.

But when you're a vigil volunteer, like I would just go and just sit in a room, usually the overnight shift.

And I would sit there for five, six hours.

And I would read Winnie the Pooh out loud to like a person who's probably unconscious and can't hear me, but it was just something to read.

It was something like, I didn't want to read something religious because I don't know what this person's religious feelings.

I would read like some nice story, something warm, something.