What I did not do, in those eight months, was sit with her.

I visited, of course — I would stop in her room on my way to somewhere else, ask the nurse for an update as though my mother were a report to be reviewed, kiss her forehead, and go.

I was a busy man.

There were territories to hold and rivals to watch and an organization that did not run itself.

I told myself she understood.

I told myself the specialists were company enough.