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This is for my daughter. She is very young but her parents are not. I envision far off days when I’m old and her children scamper around our feet but I know we have no guarantees. I want her to know me. The 42-year-old me, the 48-year-old dad. I want her to have the stories of our youth, her grandparents youth who are now 65 while she is five. I want her to know how I grew up with her uncles, when I was a little girl like her. I want her to know about her big sister Cooper, who lived nine months in my belly and died there, too.
Someday my daughter will want to know. This is for her.

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