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  • Photo by hweiling

    She used to inch her way down the hall in her wheelchair. Her fiery, red bob buried in a book or a crossword puzzle. She’d rather miss breakfast than to forget her next word. She would say “no, no I can get there by myself, yes I can.” Big, bright, youthful blue eyes and weathered hands pulling back chunks of red hair behind her ear. “Top of the morning to ya” she’d say with a smile and laughing eyes.

    I made the embarrassing, mistake of assuming once that she might be Irish. I asked, “Ms. Lane are you Irish”?, baffled she looked at me and said, “no, why”? I felt the blood run to my face and sheepishly asked, “because you always say, top of the morning to ya, and your red hair, and I don’t know, I’m sorry”. She laughed and said, “I always liked the saying but I’m from Kentucky”. I quickly bid her goodbye in hopes her current health status would soon help her forget our conversation. She did but I didn’t. And even now that she is gone I still smile when I remember her and blush at our moment.
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