When hands do not want to do what you need them to do, most of us fall apart; but you looked straight forward and breathed...
When legs do not want to walk, most of us give up; but you were telling a joke from your prison bed...
When arms can not bring our food and drink to our mouth, most of us are miserable, but you were thankful for the nurses arms...
When pain creeps through our system like a devouring fire, most of us die inside, but you never ever complained...
What a privilege it was to have known you...
lady, mother, gran, angel...
missing you now, but looking forward seeing you again one day.
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