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look in his eyes. Grief wears many masks. I know most of them.
“How long?” I asked.
“Seven years. Cancer.” He paused. “Predictable and monstrous, as it tends to be.”
“Everyone is,” he replied. “It’s never quite as helpful as they hope.”
“My husband’s been gone five years,” I said. “Heart attack. No warning. Or none we recognized at continue reading …
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