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  • These are the Goulet boys.

    On the right is Dickie, he is the oldest. Sitting in his lap is David, he is the youngest. Garrett is sitting next to David, and Kenny is sitting next to Garrett. I forget who the man holding the baby is. He might have been an uncle, but I know he is not their father.

    All of the boys are married now. All of the boys have children.

    Dickie died four years ago on his couch, in the middle of the afternoon in June, from the lung cancer that had been growing since he worked with asbestos in the Navy. His wife Gretchen was there to hold his hand.

    The only stories I ever heard about Dickie revolved around his drinking, his fighting and his time in the service. It’s strange how some stories never let you grow, never let you change.

    Before he died he said to Gretchen, “I love you, a lot.” It was the 'a lot' that meant something to her, that extra word for her to hold on to. We heard 'a lot' a hundred times during the wake and the funeral. I drilled 'a lot' into my head, 'a lot' became my deathbed fantasy. One day, maybe, I would find someone who loved me 'a lot.'
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