A few hours before she died, Margie Cohen wrapped me in a hug just outside her bedroom door. I could feel the tumors on her back through her green blouse. “It’s like I’ve known you my whole life,” she whispered into my ear. I began to cry.
It was early September. Margie and I had met that summer as I was reporting a story on Medical Aid in Dying in Colorado. A Denver Health physician named Kerri Mason—who leads the hospital’s MAID clinic—texted me Margie’s number one day and said I should give her a call. “You are going to love this human,” the doctor wrote.
She was right…