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how it was. The stories about the past came freely, ever since the time Grandpa passed. To most, she was letting go. To my ears she was helping to hold on. The stories came about how her father migrated to escape the bloodshed of la Revolución. How a railroad yard in Dodge City, a campo in Firebaugh, and a neighborhood in Fresno wove together to create my reality. We try to let go of a past when it causes a remembrance of tears, but we only release words while experiences, emotions and memories remain seated around the table retelling stories. |
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