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  • before my great grandmother died of cancer she became delirious from the morphine and began talking in her sleep. my mother, heartbroken at the certain fate of this beloved woman, recounted staying up sleepless nights with her until she died. the family opted for hospice, perhaps the most gentle and private way to spend your final days with a violent, deadly ailment. just nights before my grandmother’s death, my mother held her hand as she began talking in her sleep.

    she spoke spoke as if she was already dead.
    “i can’t believe they picked out such an ugly casket,” she cried.

    my mother grasped her hand tightly. she rambled about the other dead people, appearing ugly, misshapen and wailing.

    "i just want to rest,” she commanded to the other deceased, but the wailing seemingly continued as the dying woman continued to describe ungodly things that my mother would not dare repeat. a few nights later, my great grandmother eileen died peacefully in her sleep.

    we buried her in the prettiest casket i have ever seen.
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