Please Release Me, Let Me Go

Across the room her sad eyes pleaded for understanding and confirmation. Barely audible she whispered, “I beat death several times in my life, but not this time.”  I could only respond with no response as her daughter stroked her arm and encouraged her to drink.  I knew, as she knew, the time had come to let go.

The death rattle seized her as phlegm gurgled in her throat. The intake of her breath stalled. I looked across her chest as her daughter’s face registered what I thought, it would be her last. Then she drew yet another ragged breath.

Why in life was death so hard.

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kietie

Down in my basement, lined neatly on a shelf are handwritten notebooks chronicling my life. After years of writing, the experience became more of a burden then an important part of my day so I quit writing. Five years later I took up writing again. This time it was in the form of a blog which gave me a place to hang out after I lost my job. From there my blog content morphed into writing about my general contractor experience building our house. As my life experiences grew so did my blog.

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