Creating space to pause, reflect and share experiences with dying and death

An early morning in spring

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An early morning in spring

My father died on a Monday. An early morning in spring- just as the day began, just as people were busy scurrying. I think about how many babies were born at that exact moment. How many of them had his curly black hair and dark coffee skin and would I ever meet one of them and know that he was part of them.

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