On Tuesday after Easter, April 6th, I took my mother to the hospital. She knew long before we did that her time was almost up. It was not the fear of death that worried her, it was the sadness that her time with the people she loved would irretrievably melt away, that she would no longer be able to participate in our lives, would no longer be able to take care of us, and would leave us alone for ever.
. . .
As I wait outside the ward door for my Corona test result, the hospital seems deserted, as if the virus had sucked the life out of the corridors. No other visitors, no staff with beds, no doctor with a stethoscope in his pocket. Only distant noises and the omnipresent hospital smell of floor wax and disinfectant distract me.
The ward door opens.
