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At My Mother’s Funeral a Priest Told Me My Name Was Not Real and Gave Me a Key That Changed Everything

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The wind moved lightly across the grass and the afternoon was very still.

I thought about the words that had followed him for thirty years. Reckless. Unstable. Impulsive. Words chosen by someone else and repeated by enough people often enough that they had eventually calcified into what felt like memory. I had used those words myself when the subject continue reading …

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