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When they said our mother couldn’t live alone anymore, my siblings suddenly had every excuse ready. I was the last person anyone expected to speak up, which is exactly why what I said next changed everything.
No one answered.
Our mother, Margaret, sat on the hospital bed with that hopeful smile older parents wear when they still believe their children will step up. I stood there with my six brothers and sisters. We were the seven people she’d raised, mostly by herself.