Yesterday, I was at my parents’ house visiting my dad and I went upstairs to get something. Before I started back down the stairs, something made me pause and think about how my sister and I used to sit at the top of the stairs on Christmas morning, squealing with excitement, until my mom said it was OK for us to come down.
I pictured this in my head as I began to walk down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, I looked to the right where the living room is and pictured my mom lying there in a hospital bed, dying.
I thought about how she laid in that bed for almost three months. I thought about how she died in that room. Then I turned to the left and looked down the hallway to the family room, again picturing my mom on all those Christmas
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