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September 9, 2008

Part of me has been in Gaylord since Sunday morning.
It’s funny realizing how many people are praying for my uncle. Catalina said she would. Sara would have dozens organized if only I would tell her.
In that house there are my two cousins, feeding Uncle Tony popsicles.
For days now, I’ve been there, a house I’ve never seen.
A constant stream of visitors come through. It almost seems like a fair attraction.
Suddenly in the middle of another task, I’ll find myself thinking of them. I can’t believe Anthony has to help his dad die. Anthony’s only twenty or so.
I like knowing that he’s on morphine, and that he has his sons there. I hope he’s okay, and that it doesn’t last too much longer.
I wish I could be there. But I don’t really know them well. I’d feel so out of place. It’s just hard knowing that they’re there, waiting for him to die. The whole family is collectively holding it’s breath. Around the country, dozens of us, checking our email and voice mail, waiting to be able to breathe again.

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