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A Stranger Dropped Dead in Front of the Post Office

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Day 1.

A stranger dropped dead in front of the post office. I hear those words over and over, an eternal cycle of pain running through my mind. The words shoot arrows into my heart and daggers into my soul. I heard those words for the first time a day ago, the day my mother died. The man who spoke those words was my father. Early-onset dementia has taken everything from him, leaving him with not the vaguest memory of my mother. Sometimes he even forgets me. I’m in pain, I’m drowning, I miss you, Mom, I miss you, Dad.

Day 30.
A stranger dropped dead in front of the post office. My dad has forgotten me. How can someone forget their own child?  He has been sent to a mental hospital that takes care of dementia patients. I have been sent to a foster home. I’m so alone. I’m in pain, I’m drowning, I miss you, Mom, I miss you, Dad.

Day 60.
A stranger dropped dead in front of the post office. The other girls are talking about me, the girl with the dead mom and the runaway dad. In a small town like this, it is to be expected. But they don’t know, they just don’t understand. I’m in pain, I’m drowning, I miss you, Mom, I miss you, Dad.

Day 90.
A stranger dropped dead in front of the post office. This is my third house. Why can’t I find a home? I’m so alone. There is no end to this. I’m in pain, I’m drowning, I miss you, Mom, I miss you, Dad. I will see you soon.




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