by Donna Marsh O’Connor
This week, my husband told me about a talk he had with someone at my daughter’s funeral back in 2001. I had no recollection that the person had attended, so I relived the event, piecing through the moments, looking for this person. Did I see him? Did he talk to me? What else essential to my life in the world is gone? Over the course of the 15 years since, there are many vacancies in my memory. Gaps that emerge from grief.
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