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Bittersweet.

Sitting on the lake with an old acquaintance talking about stuff and things.
The conversation somehow...always....takes a turn for ...death.
He told me a story of his grandfather passing - it was last year this time. He spoke of being in the hospital with him-he was amazed- how he was the only one to receive clear answers from "poppy" as he had a bit of dementia on his way out - at 95 years of age.

Then, 
Francis kept repeating in my head.
Ask him my name. It's Francis.

I wouldn't do it.....I didn't want to interrupt.

Ask him my name. 

I took a deep breath.  And said....
Sometimes people tell me things. 
A lot of the time, for some reason or other - the conversation turns to death.

I'm sorry - Am I freaking you out? he asked.

No.  Just listen.  (Insert another deep breath here).  
What was Poppy's name?

Frank.

Well, I hear - Francis - say that you were more like a son to him than a grandson.

What?  How did you know what his name was? His name was Francis - people called him Frank.

Because - I can hear him.  He wants you to know that he's still here for you - during this time of stress and anger and confusion.  He's here if you want to talk to him.

Tell him - he doesn't have to to be.  
He knows - he just wants you to know that he loves you and he's here.

Of course, I told him the rest ....of how this keeps happening - of how I'm just looking for answers to things that I attract ....

This is really neat - but you shouldn't go around telling people....

I know....It's crazy.

Crazy got a rejection letter from the BIG NY Agent who requested the first 3 chapters of my novel.

No champagne toast today.


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