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Behave, Gina Vucci
Behave, Gina Vucci
The Tuxedo Archives
Serve the guests. Don’t cry. Take your brother for a walk. Your father was such an incredible man. Your father loved you. You were his favorite. I’ll just let everyone else cry while I learn to live with this feeling in the pit of my stomach. Leave her alone. It’s fine if she wants to wear her red velvet dress from last Christmas. She can wear what she wants to the funeral. Touch his hand; it’s the last time you’ll ever see him. I don’t know you, but I can’t stop sobbing in your arms.
Mom's Gone, Peter Richmond
Mom's Gone, Peter Richmond
The Tuxedo Archives
The date is August 7, 1957. It’s hard to believe that almost six decades have passed, but a look at the calendar, not to mention the event’s subsequent loneliness, make it easy to confirm. A shrink would have a field day with this one! Actually, he did! You see, the date is the day my mother left this world—died, to be blunt. She was a victim of breast cancer. She lasted barely a year after a radical mastectomy was performed that was, only to the surgeon and my father, a sham waste of time performed mainly to make my mother …