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Upstairs  Brother’s Room 75 Sleepless That night in a froth of wrath at mother’s refusal of the care I had set up for her, I couldn’t sleep. I was leaving the next day. Was I leaving the next day? How could I leave if she wouldn’t . . . ? How would I if she didn’t . . . ? Things were fine as long as the caretaker was me, that’s what she was saying. Then it was like a visit until she could go back to work. But help? No. She didn’t need help. I had no idea how awful I made her feel. No idea. Calling people on the phone, setting up interviews. She couldn’t endure another person in her house! Never mind my life and work three hours away. I wanted to rip something to shreds but had no paper. That’s how far from myself I was. Staying in my brother’s room, only a wall between her head and mine so I could bolt awake if she called, I didn’t want to wake her, creeping about the house, have her cough and ask “What are you doing up?” so I opened the chest of drawers. Surely I would find some paper. . . . 76 Upstairs  Brother’s Room Indeed I did: my parents’ wedding announcement and Papaw’s death certificate. Chastened by a cosmic hand I got in bed and snapped off the light. ...

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