WHEN ADULTS tell you that people die, they don’t say how often, don’t tell you that just when you are getting used to one person being gone, another one disappears. They don’t tell you that bad things and sad things and terrible things happen. Sometimes once, sometimes twice, sometimes countless times in a lifetime. If I live long enough to be an adult and if I have children when I am an adult I will tell them as much as I can about all the loss but also all the love and all the crushes and all the bellyaching laughs. And I will tell them that whenever love is involved any loss—big or small,
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