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Published on Saturday, May 10, 2008
By Tom Purcell
I used to take her for granted.
When my five sisters and I were babies in her womb, she never took so much as an aspirin for a headache. She never put anything in her body but the nutrients we needed to grow, and I took that for granted.
As a child, my world was rock-solid because of her. She put our needs so far before her own that we didn't know that she had needs. She loved us without condition. I was so unaware of the fear and pain less fortunate children suffer that I didn't know such concepts existed. She worked hard to create that world, and I took that for granted.
As a teen, I gave her grief. I told her how wrong she was about religion, child-rearing, everything. She was just a housewife, I said. What could she possibly know. I challenged her because she was strong, and I took her strength for granted.
She was extraordinarily moral. I still can't tell a lie, thanks to her. The only thing she hated more than dishonesty was phoniness
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