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Fifteen years ago, we celebrated my mother’s life at her funeral.
Because she was a school teacher, it was a grand funeral with hundreds of people in attendance.
The memory that stands out most is of her third-grade class tearfully singing a song in her honor. They had only been back from spring break one day when she fell ill at school and was rushed to the hospital.
She died at the age of 47.
In four years, I will be 47.
The closer I get, the more I realize how truly young my mom was.
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