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dealing with deleting “cancer”
It is a confession of sorts. I do not want to write about being diagnosed with cancer, living with cancer, or expecting to die from cancer. In the beginning, cancer hung from every sentence, anchoring me down to an unfamiliar place, where one could easily get lost, were it not for the kindness of strangers. Like Rhonda, not a stranger…
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well suited
The little boy standing on O’Connell Street, is the image of his father, my brother, anticipating a cream bun treat at the nearby Arabica Coffee. He has just completed a milestone to remember, his first day at school, where he will be known by the Irish version of his surname, the very impressive Mac Uaitéir. Literally, this translates to “Son of…