The Bright Hour
A Memoir of Living and DyingeBook - 2017
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I walk around the room twice, sniffing at everything - searching for just one whiff of her - organic, living/dying her. It is not here. So I stand in the room and cry for a long time.
And then I steal all her shoes.
"Dying isn't the end of the world." my mother liked to joke after she was diagnosed as terminal.
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