"I knew with each passing day, I was one day closer to losing my mother. I was trying to hold on to her like a child attempting to hold on to sand with fists clenched, grasping tight. What I would have loved to do was hold her with a cupped, nearly open palm, the way you might hold water, in recognition of the softness, the fluidity that love and death require."
    
    
      — Oct 17, 2025 05:19AM
    
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