The Washington Post, November 21st, 2000
I'm middle-aged and I've never seen anyone die. But one sunny, 60- degree day, my phone call came. It was my mother, and she was speaking in the awe-struck voice of a witness. The distance between her words, the implied chasms of meaning that divided them and the blind strength she needed to express them signaled something was seriously wrong. "I'm not sure you need to come down," my mother finished, in the dream tones of a sleepwalker. Several times in the last years she had called to let her children know Dad was in critical care, always embarrassed, sure it was nothing, careful not to incon...
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