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Because I never saw my mother again, she remains in absence to me. An empty space. An invisible, half remembered ghost. So even now I catch myself thinking that I’m gonna run into her some day. Like I’ll be at a stop light, and look over at the car next to me and there she’ll be, scowling at me with disapproval. Or I’ll spot her across some crowded street, or train station, and we’ll run toward each other like one of those cheesy TV movies. She’ll hug me like a long, lost lover, then take my face in her long, graceful hands, look me in the eyes and say… …”I’m here, Kat. I’m here.”

— White Bird in a Blizzard

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