Over two decades ago, I spoke what I thought was a final goodbye to my mother. I am easily transported back to the stark hospital room, the four of us adult children gathered together with our families. This ending followed her battle with a dreadful disease that ravaged her body for over six years. She was tiny, frail and helpless. Our family spent days in those important conversations people have when they know the end is near. But, true to the form of my family, the discussion lacked credible depth and the possibility of repair. At that time, I was unaware of how much these were needed. A truer image of my family of origin was beginning to form.
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