Allyson would have a thousand reasons to be angry - angry at God, at the system that denied them insurance and access to healthcare. I'm grateful that in this hour she is simply able to celebrate the gift. We sit in silence for a while. A doctor says that her heart will probably give out soon. In an hour's time our thinking has suddenly shifted from living to dying.
Friends stop by throughout the evening to say their goodbyes, and a few stay through the night.
About an hour before dawn Sylvia quietly slips away. Sleep-deprived and wasted, the rest of the day becomes a blur, filled mostly with practical matters like keeping Allyson away from some of the homophobic relatives and making sure no one lays claim to Sylvia's things in their house. I have to leave for Denver the next day, and we decide to have our own sort of memorial service when I return. I dread having to make that drive across Kansas. But on this day I find that the solitude serves me well.