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Homesick

  Her legs fold at the knees, barely relaxing as she sits on her rollater. Her feet meet the carpet of a room inhabited by dozens before her, and I sense her restlessness. The walls—boring, neutral white, but windows that welcome all of the sunlight bringing contrast to the flat color and pale, worn-out wood.. no ambiance or charm, just walls and windows. Even with the furniture from her own home, it isn’t quite hers.. only feeling ambivalence, as it brings unwelcoming change.  Change always rubs against the grain of our souls. I know this in my own way, but not in the way that Mary now does.   My eyes keep coming back to rest on the silver balls in her pierced ears. Outfitted in the comfort of loungewear with the exception of this subtle flare to remind me that she’s still a lady.  Her husband has come into the habit of falling–-once strong with sharp reflexes, now feeble and unsteady. Unpredictable. Yet he still calls her “the boss”, with a wink, smiling and content just to be near h

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