Book: Normal families do not happen

What is the difference - to die at sixty-five or seventy-five? The extra ten years... What can they mean? Or eighty-five? An extra twenty. She craved these years, so grieved about their loss, and now, when she returned them, couldn't decipher their hidden meaning. Although, if you figure out what the point was in my first sixty-five years? Maybe the only important thing was the desire to live and that you are given such an opportunity? Forget about thousands of haiku, which you could now write. Forget to take cello lessons or straining in the field of philanthropy. But why should he?
She thought about her life and how lost felt most of it. She thought about how all the truths she had been taught to believe is immutable, invariably come into conflict with life it is. <...> Oddly enough, while she was sick, the feeling of loss was not as acute. It's the only thing she didn't doubt. The illness forced her to seek knowledge and comfort in places that she never knew existed. The illness forced her to meet and enter into dialogue with compatriots which otherwise would have remained shadows inside their cars idly waiting next to it until the green light. But, perhaps, she will continue to look for new places previously forbidden - not because you must, but because she made that choice because it was the only genuine way out of her fragile and lifeless dying? Now she will learn to see the human soul in all, whomever and wherever encountered - in the supermarket, on-site dog parks, the library - all those souls, brighter, perhaps blinding lights...