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I guess I’m at that age.  I remember when my mother would read something in the paper and begin to tear up.  For a few years it was so regular, it seemed surreal.

Now, as I read obit after obit for beloved musicians, writers and actors, I get choked up.  I cry.  I shed tears for strangers who, despite not knowing them, touched my life in unbelievable ways.  Bowie mesmerized me as a teen and Joe Cocker told me I was beautiful.  Wes Craven kept me entertained for hours.  Alan Rickman made me believe even the villain could be loved.  And so many more…just recently. The past year’s list alone boggles the mind.

I know it happens to everyone eventually, this constant reminder that we are fragile and finite.

Just hoping for later, was all.

 

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