The Name on the Door

I thought of my mother often yesterday. It wasn’t a very productive day; it’s hard to get much done when you have a lump in your throat. Exactly one year ago, February 25, 2013, my sister and I looked on helplessly as our mom struggled to take her final breaths. It was if she embraced the words of poet Dylan Thomas: Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Watching somebody die is difficult, I’m not going to lie. People who say it is a beautiful experience weren’t in the same room […]

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