It used to be the sound of a pop top on a can, now it is the opening and shutting of the kitchen door, the opening and shutting of the kitchen door, the opening and shutting of the kitchen door. I can't speak my anger and fear, so I'll write it. Seven years ago on an extremely cold MLK Jr. weekend, Larry was sent home with orders to not empty his truck and to stay inside while we wait 4 long horrible days until open heart surgery. I stood in the room while the docs looked at the immense blockages and could not understand why there was no pain--their mouths agape at the arteries dysfunction. Quintuple bypass.
The sounds I mentioned are the sounds to me of impending death. Maybe I'll leave it there.
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