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March 12th, 1959

March 12th, 1959

When what we took for granted becomes a fantasy.

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Anna Haines
Mar 12, 2021
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March 12th, 1959
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“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, ‘It might have been.’”

― Kurt Vonnegut (Thanks Jess Thoms for the quote).

Two photos of the front yard of my childhood home: one before mom’s death, one after. ©Anna Haines

I wake up to the sun streaming through lace curtains, a warm ball of fur, my cat Emma, scrunched in my armpit. The soothing, soft rumble of your inhale fills the space next to me. I tip toe into the kitchen to make breakfast while you sleep—coffee and a heaping bowl of cereal, half bran flakes, half granola, for you; a green smoothie and lox frittata for me—while you sleep. We eat together, the windows cracked open, it’s surprisingly warm for mid-March. Birds chirp from bare branches freckled with buds eager to bloom.

After three tedious cigarettes paired with three cups of re-heated latte, we venture out into the early afternoon. Your birthday falls too early for the real flowers of Spring, so I take you to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. I’m bored within ten minut…

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