No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. – Aesop
Dear Strangers,
I remember you. Ten months ago, when my cell phone rang with news of my father’s suicide, you were walking into Whole Foods, prepared to go about your food shop, just as I had done only minutes before.
But I had already abandoned my cart full of groceries and I stood in the entryway of the store. My brother was on the other end of the line. He was telling me my father was dead, that he had taken his own life early that morning and through his own sobs, I remember my brother kept saying, “I’m sorry Deborah, I’m so sorry.” I can’t imagine how it must have felt for him to make that call.
And as we hung up the phone, I started to cry and scream, as my whole body trembled. This just couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be happening. Only moments before I was filling my cart with groceries, going about my errands on a normal Monday morning. Only moments before my life felt intact. Overwhelmed with emotions, I fell to the floor, my knees buckling under the weight of what I had just learned. And you kind strangers, you were there.
You could have kept on walking, ignoring my cries, but you didn’t. You could have simply stopped and stared at my primal display of pain, but you didn’t. No, instead you surrounded me as I yelled through my sobs, “My father killed himself. He killed himself. He’s dead.” And the question that has plagued me since that moment came to my lips in a scream, “Why?” I must have asked it over and over and over again. I remember in that haze of emotions, one of you asked for my phone and asked who you should call. What was my password? You needed my husband’s name as you searched through my contacts. I remember that I could hear your words as you tried to reach my husband for me, leaving an urgent message for him to call me. I recall hearing you discuss among yourselves who would drive me home in my car and who would follow that person to bring them back to the store. You didn’t even know one another, but it didn’t seem to matter. You encountered me, a stranger, in the worst moment of my life & you coalesced around me with common purpose, to help. I remember one of you asking if you could pray for me and for my father. I must have said yes, and I recall now that Christian prayer being offered up to Jesus for my Jewish father and me, and it still both brings tears to my eyes and makes me smile. In my fog, I told you that I had a friend, Pam, who worked at Whole Foods and one of you went in search of her and thankfully, she was there that morning and you brought her to me. I remember the relief I felt at seeing her face, familiar and warm. She took me to the back, comforting and caring for me so lovingly until my husband could get to me. And I even recall as I sat with her, one of you sent back a gift card to Whole Foods; though you didn’t know me, you wanted to offer a little something to let me know that you would be thinking of me and holding me and my family in your thoughts and prayers. That gift card helped to feed my family, when the idea of cooking was so far beyond my emotional reach.
I never saw you after that. But I know this to be true, if it were not for all of you, I might have simply gotten in the car and tried to drive myself home. I wasn’t thinking straight, if I was thinking at all. If it were not for you, I don’t know what I would’ve done in those first raw moments of overwhelming shock, anguish and grief. But I thank God every day that I didn’t have to find out. Your kindness, your compassion, your willingness to help a stranger in need have stayed with me until this day. And no matter how many times my mind takes me back to that horrible life altering moment, it is not all darkness. Because you reached out to help, you offered a ray of light in the bleakest moment I’ve ever endured. You may not remember it. You may not remember me. But I will never, ever forget you. And though you may never know it, I give thanks for your presence and humanity, each & every day.
Dear Deborah,
A colleague sent me your beautiful post from Mighty because she knew I would want to share your story about the kindness of a stranger on my on FB page 1000 Mitzvahs – created while I was grieving for my own father in 2006. What an absoutely beautiful piece of writing you have shared. So poignant and raw. I had tears running down my cheeks, because what my colleague didn’t know was that my own mother also committed suicide in July 2014. Thank you for that unbelievable and vulnerable essay. It will touch many people and remind everyone that our world is filled with beautiful caring people who act in kindness every day. I would love to stay connected, but didn’t see an email to send you a private note so this public version will have to do. I am signing up for your newsletter. Linda
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Your words brought me to tears Linda. I’m honored that so many took the time to share in my story today. And thank you for sharing your own truth. Perhaps in telling our stories we can truly change the course of the dialogue around mental health and suicide prevention, as well as inspire others to take every opportunity to respond in kindness.
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Deborah,
I stumbled upon your post from The Mighty on Twitter today and it made such a powerful impact. Over 10 years ago, at 18 years old, I found my grandfather in his home after his suicide. Many nights I have laid in bed and composed a similar letter in my head to all the strangers I encountered on that day. The neighbors, police officers, paramedics, who sat with and cared for a scared teenage boy. The people who played a major role in my life story and I never saw again.
Once our family had healed enough to speak truth about my grandfathers death I was overwhelmed by the amount of people who shared similar stories. I appreciate your courage to share your story and hope that the stigma surrounding suicide continues to change.
-Nate
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I’m so grateful that so many have taken the time to share in my story Nate. And even more, that it has allowed others to share their losses with me. We are part of the club that nobody wants to belong to. I strive every day to bring meaning to my father’s death and to open the dialogue around suicide and suicide prevention. Together I hope we can tear down the walls of stigma and shame. May your grandfather’s memory and my father’s memory be an abiding blessing. And in their honor, we work to pay forward kindness and end the secrecy. Thank you for reaching out and sharing.
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Thank you for sharing your story. I know now that you live in CO, but before seeing that I was convinced you lived in GA, because I witnessed something similar at a Whole Foods near me. It’s a good reminder that there are many caring people in this world.
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Suzanne, I do now live in Colorado, but I was still living in Georgia at the time. I was at the Merchants Walk Whole Foods in Marietta on that horrible day. I struggled to walk back into that store every time after that. Reminded of the worst moment of my life, but what allowed me to do it was being reminded of the best of humanity that met me that day.
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It seemed like too much of a coincidence not to have been you. I was so impressed and touched by all those women helping you, and could tell you were in good hands, or I too would have offered to help. A few days later I posted on an E. Cobb message board asking if anyone knew you, because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Take good care.
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Suzanne I am in tears that my letter reached someone who was witness to that horrible life altering moment. I hope and pray it reaches the others who were there as well. Thank you for reaching out and sharing that you tried to find me. That touches me beyond words. That is the very kindness that sustains me. Day by day I fight on. It is the hardest journey I have ever been on. But I know the only way through the grief and trauma, is through it. You have warmed my heart today. A kind witness to my pain who didn’t forget me.
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Hi Deborah, I just came a cross this post via The Washington Post. My dad took his own life on April 19, 2003 (the date your own loss compelled me to write to you). I am so very sorry you are going through this. As I am further along in this journey that no one should have to take, I can only offer you a few words that I hope will help you on your way – you WILL get through this. There will be times when it gets harder, not easier, so don’t be surprised but that, but the hard times will become fewer and further between. You WILL get through this.
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Marla, I take so much comfort in the words of survivors like you, who are much further in their journey, and offer me hope as I travel down mine, still in this year of firsts without my dad. Thank you for that affirmation, on the hardest days I cleave to that. I am blessed to be surrounded by love and room to grieve. I’m honored that my story has touched so many and I hope, opened the door to conversations about the very human side of this tragedy.
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Thankfully, I was in the comfort of my own home when I learned the news of my father’s suicide 2 years ago. Its a moment in time that is difficult to describe but has forever changed me. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t replay the situation in my head. What else could I have done? Why?… There are no answers but I what I realize now is that he just didn’t see any other way. I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. Hang in there, get some professional help if you can. I started seeing a psychologist 2 weeks after my dad’s death and it has made a huge difference. And know that you are not alone.
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Katie, my therapist is such a gift to me. I don’t know how I would travel this road without her. The questions remain, but what breaks my heart most is that my father, a beloved husband of 50 years, a father of two and grandfather of six. A man who built a family that cherished him, had friends who loved him, had created a successful life for himself and his family etc. died alone, in a dark room, feeling ashamed, unworthy, as if we would be better off without him. That is what is hardest for me to try and contend with. But I am determined to, with the support of a good therapist, support groups and family and friends who stand steadfast by my side–keep on walking the walk through it all. My fellow survivor, you are not alone either.
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Dear Deborah, I saw your post on the internet today and read it as my 27 year old nephew killed himself in April of last year, he was found on the 19; but was not found right away. I feel your pain and anguish. Every day I ask myself what could I have done or what should I have done. I don’t expect to ever find the answer to that question or fully realize internal peace again. I hope you have peace, Kristen
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Kristen I am so sorry for your loss. My very wise therapist told me that in time, I will be able to allow those questions to come to the surface, briefly look at them and then let them go, without trying to answer them. One day my heart will catch up to what my head already has come to know, it was an illness that metastasized into his soul. Depression and anxiety took hold and they broke his heart and his spirit. I find myself thinking a lot about where my dad was a year ago at this time. We knew he was suffering, we knew he was in a depression with deep anxiety, but we didn’t know he was in trouble, at risk of suicide. I’ve learned all of the signs now that I didn’t know were signs then–and it’s hard not to think about the fact that my father was dying inside and we didn’t know it. But if in telling his story and our story, I can help others to feel less alone, or break down the stigma and shame that only fed his illness, then I will make meaning of his death and honor his memory. I am so touched by the response to my piece and once again strangers have lifted my spirits. May we both find peace in time.
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Deborah – I cannot say enough about how beautiful your message was to those surrounding you on what is likely still the worst day of your life. Your words are full of a gracious peace from within and while we cannot begin to understand the despair your father was experiencing, it’s safe to say his pain has been lifted and he somehow hopes to lift yours. Your post brought me to tears, not b/c I’ve lost a parent to suicide (or at all yet in fact), but b/c I can only hope people can assimilate to helping others land safely on the ground upon such loss as they did for you that day. I don’t know your pain, but my wish is that it lessens each day for you and those just like you. What you wrote…what you shared…will make even the kindest readers better people. I applaud you for your courage and contribution.
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You have moved me to tears. Thank you for sharing in my story and opening up your heart.
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Hi Deborah,
I’m currently reading your post while studying for midterms at my college library. I’m trying to hold in tears from such a beautifully written post that really, truly touched my heart. The post reminded me of something that had happened this February when two senior girls from the high school I just graduated from took their lives in the same day. Though I never knew them, it messed with me for weeks on end wondering about how much turmoil could’ve been going on within that made them go through with it. Suicide is so deep and confusing yet it touches so many people – even those who weren’t personally connected with the deceased. I cannot even imagine the pain that you went through when you found out the news and I would never wish that wrenching pain on anyone. I hope you find peace and I truly pray that the hurt becomes a little less each and everyday.
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Thank you Lily. Day by day I journey through it. And I am surrounded by love. Your kindness truly touches my heart.
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This touched my heart. I am so glad that in your time of such pain, you were surrounded by love.
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Thank you Tracey. I’ve been blessed with many lanterns in the darkness. Perhaps that is the answer to my questions about God in all of this. Maybe God is in each and every one of them.
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I read your post on the Washington Post and was so moved by your words. It reminded me that though there is so much wrong and pain in this world, there is also love. Even love from strangers. I hope that given the opportunity I would be like those strangers who stopped and comforted you in that incredibly dark moment. Thank you for sharing your story, I truly felt it.
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Thank you Nermari. It was written through profound tears. Those women are with me daily. Whenever I think of the moment my life changed forever, and I think of it often, they are a part of that. I think of the famous quote by Anne Frank– “It’s difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. It’s a wonder I haven’t abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.” I believe that too. And the response that this piece has gotten, the compassion, words of comfort and support, only remind me of that once again. Thank you for your kind words.
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Hi Deborah, I am Digital News Editor at The Independent, a news publisher based in London (http://www.independent.co.uk/). I was alerted to your powerful blog by the Washington Post article and was really moved by it.
It’s the sort of issue that our readers really engage with and I wondered if we could republish it as well.
.
Thank you for your time
Stuart Henderson
(s.henderson@independent.co.uk)
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I sent you an email Stuart. Though this is all very bittersweet for me, I am humbled and honored that my story has touched so many. You may absolutely share it. Please let me know if you need anything further from me.
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Dear Deborah,
A friend shared this on Facebook, which is how I come to be here. Being a disabled British Citizen is very difficult right now – we are being demonised and sanctioned by the very government who swore to protect us – and I have lifelong, clinical depression on top of other, more pressing woes.
Your open letter may just have prevented me from doing the thing that would destroy my loved ones along with me. Much love, and thank you xx
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I pray with all of my heart that you can find the safe spaces and people that you need. I honestly don’t believe that my father wanted to die. I think he wanted the pain to end. But the pain only landed in the hands and hearts of those who loved him most. If I could say one word to him today it would be, “Stay.” Reach out, find help, tread water until you can once again swim. Many, many wishes of strength and comfort being held for you in my heart.
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I think you’re quite right. I seem to jump between two emotions: believing that my husband would be happier, with a more fulfilling life (and perhaps even a career) if he weren’t looking after me, and absolute horror that I could even consider doing such a thing to him. So far, he’s been able to pull me back every time a new setback pushes me to the edge, and I am grateful for him every day. Thank you for your kind response, and thank you again for posting this. Along with making me stop to think, the strangers who helped you that day restore my faith in humanity x
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[…] another blog yesterday. I had stumbled upon it because the Washington Post had ran one of the posts. The author was a lady who had apparently lost her father to suicide. In this particular post […]
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What a mitzvah you have provided to the world! As someone who has had a sibling attempt suicide many times and who cannot be in my life due to abuse, your blog post brought me to tears. Your courage to express your vulnerabilities is profound. G-d bless you and your family. You have blessed me.
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Thank you for that. You have no idea how much that means. If I can make meaning of this loss, and inspire others to act in kindness & compassion, as those angels did for me that day, than I honor my father’s memory.
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Dear Deborah,
I read this blog entry today and felt compelled to comment (albeit through tears). Something very similar happened to me some years ago after the death of my beloved mother. It was about a year after she died and I felt like I could handle shopping in some of the same places we frequented together. As I walked into Nordstrom, proud that I was holding myself together, I spotted a woman about my age at the time, walking arm in arm with an elderly lady who could only have been her mother. They were chatting and laughing, so much like how it had been with me and my mom. I fled from the store, crying and sought out a secluded bench outside to compose myself. A lady walked by, turned, sat down next to me, put her arm around my shoulders and drew me in. I cried like a baby…..cried, cried and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. She finally said, “It will be okay, darling. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday it will be okay”. That was in 1995 and while the huge hole in my heart is still there, the raw pain has been replaced with warm memories of my mother I am sharing now with my grandson who never had the pleasure of knowing her. There are some wonderful, caring people in this world. I treasure the encounter with my angel as I know you treasure your encounter with yours. And someday, Deborah, it will be okay. Not like it was before, but okay.
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Hello Deborah…I was guided here by your story in the Washington Post. I too lost my father to suicide, however, it was when I was just 9 years old. I actually found him after the act. I, like you, choose to believe that he died of a disease that no one knew he was suffering from. As I am over 20 years into my journey, I can tell you that it does get easier. Days like Father’s Day and special events will always leave a small hole in your heart, but you survive and come back stronger for it. The question “Why?” will never go away. You will ask yourself that question a million more times, and there is no answer your heart or head can give that will make you feel better. I have found comfort in the good memories (that I can remember). I choose to remember him, not by how he died, but how he lived prior. It gives me a certain peace.
I came across a quote once that I keep with me always. Perhaps it will help you as well. “On particularly rough days when I am sure I can’t possibly endure, I like to remind myself that my track record for getting through bad days so far is 100%, and that’s pretty good.”
I’ll keep you and your family in my thoughts. Keep your head up.
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Carmen, I hold the words of survivors like you with great regard. You who have traveled on this journey ahead of me let me know that it won’t always hurt like this, that it will get better, and that one day how my father died will not be the idea that haunts me every day, but rather it will be how he lived that will come to mind. You have no idea what a gift your words are. I am profoundly grateful.
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Thankyou for sharing….. It’s so true. One little act of kindness can have such a big impact on someone’s life. I had a similar experience but no where near as tragic and personal as your one. I was in the vets with my mum and my dog when I received a phone call…. Like you did. My friend told me that, our friend had passed away from a cardiac arrest that morning. I remember going outside and screaming ‘tell me it’s not true, tell me it’s not true’. I was frantic and my mum obviously had no idea as she was still inside the vets. Anyway as I’m screaming and crying I feel someone place there hand on my shoulder…. It was an old lady that was walking her dog. She asked me if I was okay, then I explained I had just found out my friend had passed and she just hugged me. She held me like I was one of her children and only let go once I had stopped crying. I never saw this lady again and like you, I’d love to say Thankyou. Your courage and strength to write such a personal article is very inspiring…. My father is terminally ill and I’m dreading the day I lose my dad so I can’t imagine how you must of felt. This story has really touched me, love sent to you from London UK 💝💝💝
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Holding you and your family in my prayers as you face your father’s illness.
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This happened to our family too and my dad just kept saying ” why? What could I have done better?” And I just kept telling him “nothing dad….she thought with a different brain than us” …
One quote that I have found comforting came from Joe Biden, who has buried his first wife and 2 children…he was speaking to families who had suffered a loss ..” there will come a day, I promise you, and your parents as well, when the thought of your daughter or son , or your husband or wife, brings a smile to your lips before it brings a tear to your eye. It will happen”.
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Lulu, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss. May we both keep traveling this road of grief, until we can reach that day that VP Joe Biden speaks of. Blessings to you and your family.
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Your story was heart wrenching yet heart warming. I try to do an act of kindness as much as possible. We never know how one moment can save/help someone. I am so glad peopke were there for you.
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Lola, I too try to pay forward the kindness I was given, each and every day. It is how I honor those beautiful strangers.
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Hi Deborah,
We were so moved by your story and would like to cover your open letter for InsideEdition.com. Could you please contact me?
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I wasn’t there that day, but I can promise you that those people didn’t forget you. And that person who offered up a prayer probably still prays for you. And now, hearing your story, I too, will pray for you. I am so sorry for your loss, and thank you for sharing this beautiful story.
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Thank you Valerie. I feel lifted once again by the prayers of strangers.
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My dad died suddenly too. We don’t know how or what happened. Its been 6 years and your story brought back that pain I felt at the moment I got that phone call. It never hurts less, we just learn to live with it. I cried the entire time I read your story and I was in HEB shopping when I read it. I pray you do find Peace in the savior Jesus Christ. Thank you for sharing your story. #BeautyFromAshes
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I thank you Lisa for your heartfelt words. And I’m sorry that I made you cry in public. It seems I’ve had that effect on a lot of people these last days. And while we do not share the same faith, I believe that God is with me and that the tenants of my faith and my own faith community, will continue to sustain me through this struggle. Peace and blessings to you. And here is to life and beauty rising from the ashes. That, I believe, is a universal prayer.
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It was a good cry:) All those people coming together for the common goal of helping you is such a beautiful picture of love! I shall never forget this story of yours.
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[…] (To read the full blog, click here.) […]
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[…] (To read the full blog, click here.) […]
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“You may not remember it. You may not remember me” I’m sure they’ll remember you. Did you hang the letter at the shop so they could reach you? If I was one of them, I certainly wanted to…
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I no longer live in Georgia, but I know it reached at least one of them. And I did share it with the store’s leadership via email. I hope my words will find each of those precious souls. The letter has traveled across social media, states and countries. Their selfless acts have touched millions. And I know that I try each and every day, to pay their kindness forward.
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[…] I heard my mother’s voice after I found out my father had taken his life. I was in the back of Whole Foods, where I had received the devastating news, sitting with my friend Pam. My husband was on his way to me. But I needed to speak to my mom. So, […]
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I like to hope I’d be one of those people.
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[…] You can find Deborah’s original post here. […]
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[…] years since my father’s suicide. Some days it feels as if it was just yesterday that I was standing in Whole Foods and got the call. Still on other days, it feels as if a whole lifetime has passed. I know that I have found healing, […]
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