My iPod is forcing me to rememeber things I would prefer to leave in the dark, musty recesses of my subconscious.
Today would have been my dad's 54th birthday. Four years ago today, I stood in the crime lab in Little Rock, singing him a lullaby through my stammering sobs. Four years ago today I ignored the dried blood rimming his nostrils and placed
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I love you chica. I'm so sorry he's gone.
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I don't know for sure what happend to your dad, but I'm thinking of you. I know how rough it can be when our mind decides to pull those things out.
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