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... die in grapes.

“Dad” A tender voice called from my bedside. “You can’t be buried in grapes, that’s just weird.”

I looked over to where Samantha, my little daughter, now a young woman freshly graduated from college held my hand. Her brown eyes peered at me with laughter in them, but I could see the tears welling up behind them. She leaned over and adjusted my pillow, her hair brushing up against my cheek. She always used to smell like the wildflowers of our home in the Okanagan, ...

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