person who knew everything nobody else seemed to have time to know.
His medication schedule.
His cardiologist’s number.
His insurance password.
Which foods he could tolerate after pneumonia.
What time the hospice nurse arrived.
Where he kept his advance directive.
Which blanket he wanted when he was cold.
I was forty-six and had been married to Daniel for fourteen years.
When I first joined the Bennett family, Frank and I weren’t especially close.
He was polite but reserved—a traditional Midwestern man who expressed affection by asking whether your tires had
