The gravity of difficult questions
“I don’t want to be alive anymore.”
My friend Margot was despondent. Her lips quivered. Her eyes, normally the shape of almonds, folded themselves into little triangles when she cried. This kind and gentle woman of 62 years – my neighbor – was undeniably at her lowest point. I was sharing a couch with her during my junior year of college as her composure crumpled before me.
I first met Margot when …