baggage's Diaryland Diary

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Bad Writing Doesn't Help Much

I get the feeling that Mom knows more than she's telling.

Money sent back home, secret letters that Dad can't see, odd emails from family members with unfamiliar names-these all feel like loose ends being tied to a quick knot-the prep work for an ending to a life of nearly 80 years.

And she does all this without a trace of resignation. She smiles when I come over, she laughs at my jokes, she bugs me about my shaved head; she is surrounded with an aura of normalcy that is at once unsettling and beautiful.

And the more I marvel at her strength, the emptier I feel.

I'm afraid of life without this anchor at my side.

9:46 p.m. - 2001-11-13

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