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For me, last week began and ended with funerals.
On Monday, I attended the funeral of Mary Zawalich, whom I’d never met, or maybe I have and I don’t remember.
About a month ago, she called me. She told me her name and said she was 92 and she was dying, but that it was OK, that it was a “happy death.”
She had called to say that she’s been a reader of my column and that I’ve been a “wonderful part” of her life. She called to thank me, to say that she admired me, that she has loved me.
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