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Counting down the days in God’s waiting room An 82-year-old writer spends his final years in a retirement home surrounded by the sick and the sorry – and finds it hard to hold back the tears. – By Richard Roe* The Age Good weekend, November 17, 2018 17 November 2018 We sit in our allotted places for breakfast. For every meal. Alfredo* is to my right, Alice eyeballing me from across the table, Theresa on my left. My mother’s stricture, “A place for everything and everything in its place”, comes to mind. The table’s not much larger than a card table, so finding a space for all our plates, jugs, cutlery, cups and glasses, containers for butter, salt, jams and spreads provokes a silent battle of shifty placement. Before I can sit down, Alice moans, “There’s not enough milk.” She clutches the plastic jug to her breast and repeats her protest ...