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In by Lucía on October 28, 2010 at 11:59 pm

They’d buried her mother 22 months earlier.  At that time, everything had turned gray. She received the phone call mid-morning this time.  She was 20.  It was her father.  And this time, nothing changed.  An accident, a funeral home, and an audience of close friends and family that was even more hushed now than before.  That this was possible had been inconceivable.  Now, it simply was.  The idea of gray ceased to hold any meaning or sentiment, and her movements were smooth, just another streak in the whole blur.  Home evaporated.  Family evaporated. Everything moved around her.  Nothing made sense.

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