Tim Thompson

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I was alone with him in the bedroom; his mind was alert but his body was failing. He said, almost buoyantly, “I’m ready now.” I sat on the edge of the bed, and another silence fell over us. Then he said, “I wish I could cry, I wish I could cry.” At first I took this as a comment on his condition but am forever thankful that I pushed on. “What do you want to cry about?” I said. “For all the love I received and couldn’t return.” I felt a chill of familiarity.
Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life
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