I painted her nails after she stopped speaking

Dear Delyara, I volunteer at a hospice every Thursday. One woman, Maria, had not spoken in four days. Her daughter told me she used to paint her nails red every Sunday before church, so I brought polish and asked permission to do them. Maria did not answer, but her daughter said she would have liked it. I painted slowly, one finger at a time, while the daughter told stories about her mother dancing, arguing, cooking too much food, and refusing to own comfortable shoes. When I finished, Maria opened her eyes, looked at her hands, and moved one finger against the blanket. Her daughter leaned close and asked whether she liked the colour. Maria whispered, “Too dark.” Those were her final words. She died that evening. Her daughter laughed when she told me, then cried immediately afterward. I have volunteered for three years and learned that last words are rarely grand. Sometimes a person leaves the world still holding an opinion about nail polish. I find that comforting. Death did not turn Maria into a symbol. Until the end, she remained a woman who knew exactly which red suited her.