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My mother always called it the eventuality.
Not the maybe, or the probably.
‘It’s going to happen,’ she would tell me calmly. ‘I even
know when. It’s a twist in my stars. It’s written there,
and we have to accept it.’
My mother, Joanne Nielsen Crowe. She has a name,
she’s not a was.
I’m struggling to recall what she was wearing. I’m
struggling to recall her exact state of mind. She always
drills into me how important every moment is, each one
trembling with potential. ‘One minute,’ she will say, ‘one
degree rising, can change everything, darling. Remember.’
I have to get the story straight or they’ll think I’m
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4/06/2014 11:53 am