By Desiree Woodland — 2019
Thirteen years ago, my son took his life. At the time, I could not imagine living one more day or hour without him, much less these many years.
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I learned about a lot of things in medical school, but mortality wasn’t one of them. Although I was given a dry, leathery corpse to dissect in anatomy class in my first term, our textbooks contained almost nothing about aging or frailty or dying.