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  • My wedding pictures. My grandmother’s oh-so-pretty china teacups, the ones she loved so much. Pictures. Of the boys when they were little. Of the dogs. Of us, just goofing around, sometimes having had one too many, and sometimes in the throes of laughter and love. My beloved red drapes from IKEA, the ones that matched that favourite circular area rug in the living room. Winter clothing. Including my Linda Lundstrom coat, the one I had custom made. Our bed. Yes, our. Our, during a time that he and I were a we. Furniture, any kind of furniture. Dishes and kitchenware, things which took me so long to accumulate. Gone. All these things that wove themselves together to make the fabric of our lives, our family ~ gone. Or rather, we (me and he), gone from them. Where did we go? Away from ourselves. In more ways than one. We didn’t just unravel the stained fabric of our lives. We carved ourselves out of it. We amputated ourselves from life as we knew it. A life that had become our deathnell.
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