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The excruciating time before we have to say goodbye. |
| People speak softly when they are sad. My mother-in-law is dying. Our house is a very quiet place. It is a place where we walk lightly. A place where we exchange sad sighs and we cry alone. Our tears are premature, but they feel real and immediate. They feel like they are long overdue. This is a quiet home. We sit around the table, We play games with cards. Sometimes we laugh but it is quiet laughter. A clawing pain hangs in the air. It lessens every deep breath. It dulls the light from the windows. It stifles the laughter of the grandchildren, and amplifies the beating of a tired heart. Our house is a very quiet place. The air is heavy, close, and the people are sad. It is a place where people speak softly. |