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Her Hand
By Frank Scoblete
Peg died in the early morning at 85 years old.
The day before she had discussed books with her daughter and son-in-law.
Her body had been covered with a sheet by her Hospice nurse, except for her hand. Her daughter and son-in-law paused at that. Her hand. They did not look under the sheet.
"I don't want to see her dead," said the daughter.
"I don't want to see her dead," said the son-in-law.
But it was her hand. Neither could stop turning to look at the hand.
Her daughter took control of the situation while the brothers argued about who was the better son. These men, 58 and 47, lived with and off their parents.
She called the funeral home and set in motion society's machinery of death. They waited for the men to take her away; to take her hand away.
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