Twenty Four Hours

I got a call from my brother earlier tonight saying that they expect my Dad to die in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. It's weird, while I was listening to the message this was already forming in my head. My Dad was a great writer. He was an editor for years of a weekly magazine like Weekly Reader and he worked for a year in a juvenile detention facility helping them start a newspaper. Maybe that is why the words came pouring out onto paper as if I had no choice but to catch them and share them with others.

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