It was a place of death. Nana went there and didn’t come back. Grandpa too. Later Uncle Tom died there. Bill was sent when he was hit by the car. He was my best friend and his was my first funeral. I hated the place, the place of death.
They took Mother. She was in pain, about to explode. Father brought me to the place of death. I ran screaming across the parking lot into the flowerbed. The spring’s first daffodil was sprouting in this place of death.
Father found me. “Come,” he said, smiling, “meet your baby brother.”
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