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They have walked this path ahead of us and know our fears, our failings, our desperate hopes, and how much we cherish what cannot last.
When I look at my mother in this condition, I don’t see hatred in her, but anguish and desperation and even terror. I can’t imagine the pain and the horror of being her.
I had not asked to be born. Only to be loved.
Perseverance is impossible if we don’t permit ourselves to hope.
