Call the Undertaker, I'm Dying Here

January 14, 2015 8:23 PM

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My mum knew she was dying. I knew too, as much as I didn't want to, I knew. It was written in her face which seemed to show more peace every day, in the gait of her shuffling steps, in her tiny body collapsing in on itself.

It was there in the oxygen tank that appeared overnight in her lounge room, in the breakfast left on her plate, in the final hug of comfort she gave me in her kitchen when it all finally sunk in (for me, not her).

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