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My friend Rosie had a masectomy a few days ago. It’s over now, she survived, she’s laying in bed, at home, adding more things onto her list of things she can do, and/or feels obligated to do, each day. The thought of it makes me want to fold her up in my arms and just make it be okay, make it be something that never happened. It doesn’t work that way though.

My friend Sam has written a beautiful entry where she mentions dancing with me, and with Paul. It makes me grateful for things that are so direct and true.

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