Oversharing

A unique series of events brought me to a small stone house in the middle of a desert one hot summer day. The old cottage was tired but intriguing with its sagging, dusty floors, shabby furnishings, and curtains that crumbled when touched. With the air of a good poker player holding cards close to the chest, the structure made me wish the walls could talk.

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Got Hope?

One chilly fall day in 2004, I stood looking out my living room window, but my mind wasn't on the neighborhood kids playing or the changing leaves. Instead, it was hundreds of miles away, focused on my grandfather, who had called to tell me about his initial home visit with a hospice intake nurse…

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