Regular readers may have noticed that I have not been posting much the past few months and even less the past few weeks. Three weeks ago, my mother whose name was Irene passed away at age 82. Irene was a remarkable woman whose full story cannot be told in one blog post.
I went to a memorial for my mother last night and wrote down some memories that I shared with her close friends and relatives. Here is what I wrote:
When I was four and a half, the summer before I started school and the summer before my sister was born, I got the then common childhood disease, the measles. I had a fever of a hundred and four for several days and I was sad that on the nicest days of the year, I had to stay inside sick.
My Uncle Murray Sloan, my mother's brother was a doctor and whenever I was sick, he would pay a house call on me with a black leather doctor's bag. I usually would get a shot of antibiotics and then he would entertain me with magic tricks while the pain from the injection faded.
One night while I was sweating through a high fever, I had one of those long vivid dreams that many people experience while sick. In the dream I traveled back in time to shortly after I was born. I was starting to develop my own identity.
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