This past Sunday, I did what many of my fellow Kentuckians do: I went to church.
I live way out in the country, so on the drive to town I called to check on my dad. He told me my stepmother’s little dog, Magic, had died and that he had taken Magic’s ashes to the cemetery and dug a little hole by my stepmother’s grave so they could be together. In church, I said a special prayer for my sweet dad.
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