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Every once in a while I hear her catch her breath.  Not a whimper- just a sudden small sigh.  She doesn’t move.  Her hospital bed faces the window which looks out to the woods behind her home.  Someone brought her yellow and white roses a few days ago.  They are beginning to wilt and I am reminded of Beauty and the Beast and I wonder when the final rose petal will drop.
Her house is set up on a hill.  A pond and a stream to the side.  Her gardens; lilies, peonies, and tall grasses are all waking up but I am not sure she will see them bloom.
She isn’t interested in talking much and I am left to guess at who she was and who she loved by what she owned.  I see a photo of little girls in bathing suits from the 1920’s, maybe.  A sister? A pile of well-loved art supplies is on a bench near the front door. She was an artist. I wonder if she liked to paint outside.
I see many books on how to control your weight and then one…Eat, Drink and Be Happy and I think, finally! Ironically, she mostly re…

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