“Remember that tiny dog mom had?” My brother Jerry did a perfect imitation of mom talking baby talk to a dog that fit in the palm of her hand. We laughed at him – a welcome break in the grim afternoon. We’d just come from the funeral home, arranging for mom’s last public moments.
Sarah sighed. “It was silly how much she loved that stupid dog. For such a little thing, it had a huge empty nest to fill.”
“Let’s find a photo of him to bury with her,” I said. “She’d like that.”
We . . .
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