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                    The Extraordinary Ordinary Things of Life
        I’m at Thomas’ wake. I have his memory box on my knee, and I take out a few photos and pass them to a friend. “He was a chubby baby!” she exclaims. I reply, “He wasn’t really. Those photos were taken at the funeral home. He looked different at the hospital.” I think about this. I remember how much I longed to see Thomas once more at the funeral home…    
    
        
     
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
            