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The Last Day

My memories of her breach that impenetrable, unseen

screen between us. At 93 she had left me before I was

ready, before there was another door I could open for

more sunshine and the camaraderie of someone who

always listened until she understood.

A cloud of shared premonition had shrouded our last day

together. Leaning against the door she drooped as I stooped

to tie her shoe. Not above a prank, she never shrank from

a bit of fun. It’s the other shoe she giggled. She was old

and she was dying. As I turned the corner to get one last

glance, she winked at me.

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1 Comment

Loved the phrase "listened until she understood" - inspirational/aspirational language describing an admirable talent.

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