When I arrived, his curtains were already wide open and I could tell he had cleaned. The house smelled like cheap floor-cleaner, and when I sat down I noticed the splatter was gone. He had shaved and washed his hair. The effort felt meaningful.

I asked him how he was feeling, if he had new or worsening symptoms, but he said he was feeling stable this week—stronger, even. We joked that maybe he wasn’t dying after all.

“I’ve been praying,” he said. “Maybe that’s helping.”

“It does. It will.”

“I don’t only pray for the things I don’t have,” he said. “I pray for all of it. Even what’s happening to me.”

“Me, too.”

He didn’t ask me what I prayed for, but I was doing my job of affirming his feelings. It helped deepen clients’ trust and helped them let go.

“Was that going to be your next question, ‘Do you believe in God’?”

“That’s question seventeen. We’re not there yet.”

“Do these go in order of understanding or something?”

“Yeah, I start with softball questions about forgiveness and move on from there.”

He laughed and said, “So what’s the last question?”

I put my bag down and opened my binder. I laughed when I saw the question, because I had forgotten what it was.

“What is it? Have I ever killed someone?”

“No, it’s ‘What brings you joy?’”

He didn’t seem to be a depressive, so this couldn’t be difficult for him to answer. He stared at the ceiling and thought about it.

“Leaving things on a hopeful note—that’s nice.”

“There’s more to it after that question, though.”

“I thought just sixty questions stood between me and joy,” he said. “And then death.”

“Well, there’s only forty. But no. We have to go through this binder.”

“I should just snowboard into an avalanche, it would be easier.”

“That’s true, but also you wouldn’t have died a conscious death.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked me.

“You said you care about your soul.”

“I don’t really want to cut our time short, either.”

He sat down on the sofa and surrounded himself with pillows.

“I was thinking about your personal-trait question some more. And I think that maybe I’m finally able to develop emotional intimacy with someone without wanting to punish them for it. Or hurt them for being too close. That seems big.”

“That’s a lot to come to terms with in a week.”

“Sorry to all the women in my life. Too little too late, though, I guess.”

“When it comes time to write letters asking for forgiveness, you can keep that in mind.”

“What if they don’t want to hear from me?” he asked.

“Then I can just keep them.”