And so I am gifted with the core of who Beardo is – not was – everyday. I have the privilege of knowing the person he was striving to be, because he has become.

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Caregiver, too

I don’t have a #metoo story, other than that creepy great uncle who showed me how to play pool. But when my fellow caregivers speak, I am reminded. 

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Death strips bare

They passed as flesh no longer served. But they continue the conversation you both started when you were born to one another. 
Hold yourself. Hold. 
There is this whole lifetime 

That you shared. 

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Line up

Those same sisters once stood around their mother’s arborite kitchen table making strudel together. I sat underneath, watching their comfortable shoes move behind the dough that hung over the table’s edge. “More raisins, Elsie.” “I think it’s enough, Hedwig.”

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Death, continued

I have experienced death – first hand – twice now. I am a child compared to some. A virgin. Innocent. When I think of the world around me and it’s wars and tragedies, what do I know of death? Except that I know. I know my apples amongst the oranges. 

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Now it is time to speak for me, of me.  And I have something to say about death.

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