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A MEMORY

THE DAWNING OF DEATH


By Michael Dean Cook

4-13-22


It was the viewing day at the funeral home

for my youngest son, almost age twenty-four.

He always had a way of warming up to little kids.

There was a little girl playing around and under his casket. She tugged at her mom, and I heard her ask,

“Why won’t Ryan play with me”? Her mom bent down

And said a few words to her.

I saw a shadow of realization on the child’s face.

Then, she began to cry.

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