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July 9, 2007

From The Comments: kipp

Regrets

The light drifts softly through the lace curtains, and lays across the handmade quilt that covers her. She still has such a beautiful little smile, I think, as I try to remember the last time I visited.

Every time I came I always promised her I’d visit more often, yet I would nearly forget what she looks like, even her voice, between my far too seldom stopovers.

An orderly is packing up her things, collecting her family photos and mementos, making room for the next tenant. And as I lovingly hold my mother’s delicate hand, the coroner pronounces her dead.

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