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A couple of weeks after our hallway discussion, I spotted them exiting the elevator. Margaret pushed Josie in the wheelchair with one hand while lugging an IV pole with the other, rushing to the back door of the building and out to the parking lot in a obvious effort to avoid me. The bottle that hung from the pole had a milky beige color that could only be a supplemental feeding. Josie had a tube in her stomach. A conduit to deliver nutrients to keep her alive.

As much as Margaret had badgered me for recommendations, it was clear she no longer needed, or wanted my input.

I never saw either of them after that day. Soon rumors circulated that Josie had died. No one knew what happened to Margaret.

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