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144 CHRISTIANITY AND LITERATURE In Praise of Dying after a poem by Sue Ellen Thompson for my mother For giving us these last six weeks where we reversed, and I read to her, a novel about Africa, where neither of us has ever been. For letting that novel remind her how much she loved donuts, their greasy faces shining through brown paper bags. For Dunkin' Donuts, their many glazed varieties. For the afternoons that weren't too hot, weren't too humid, that let me push her in the wheelchair to see the koi flashing in and out of the water lilies. For letting me be her legs. When the end came, for letting me slip some soup into her parched mouth, rub cream on her hands and feet, place a sweater around her shoulders, all bone now. Watch her breathe in the night, like she watched me when I was new. For letting her go out as quietly as a candle that has used up all its wax. For letting me be there for her last breath that fluttered out like a moth. BARBARA CROOKER ...

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