"We are all guilty of The Great Postponement," Farah continued. "We treat people like drafts of a contract that we will sign later. But the contract expires without warning." She pulled out a stack of blank cards. "Today’s prescription is simple. It is the hardest thing you will ever do. It is called The Eulogy at Breakfast." She handed a card to each of them. "You are going to write a eulogy for a living person. Someone you love. Someone you are annoyed with. Someone you take for granted. You are going to write down everything you would say if they died tonight. The good points. The quirky habits. The sacrifices they made that you never acknowledged." "And then?" Meera asked, feeling a knot of anxiety in her stomach. "And then," Farah said, "you are going to go home, sit them down, and read it to them. While they are eating toast. While they are checking their phone. While they are alive."