After the dying things are done

I’M PAYING FOR A COFFEE IN BROOKLYN when a doctor in Massachusetts calls and asks for permission to intubate my uncle. It’s urgent. His lung has collapsed, and he’s lost consciousness. There’s no time to consider what it means to put an 82-year-old with a slew of health conditions on a ventilator. So I say yes. On my drive to the hospital, another doctor calls to say they need to do a bronchoscopy. I ask if it will hurt, and she says he’s sedated. So I say yes again.

Just like that, I’ve put