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dnaydiu
So... my mum. Margret Sharma. She was 67. Except sometimes by the end, she forgot that. Called me by my Dad's name, Or her brother's. You know, I tried to pretend; that I didn't know who I was supposed to be. They didn't say any of that at the funeral. They wouldn't. They just.... Smoothed it over. Made it nice. So they left out all the bad stuff... And all the good stuff. They didn't say how funny she was... how she would... wink at you from across the breakfast table. She had a sweet tooth... and a dirty laugh. And she loved me so hard, it hurt. Sometimes; No matter what I did. She was gone long before she died, and I miss her. She was my anchor. And then I suppose she was my... burden. Christ. She seemed so small, at the end. But still so... heavy. And still so heavy. And I... and all I could do was just... let her hang on to me... until it was time for her to let go. And soon I'll let her go too.
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