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When my father died many years ago I was in tune with the meaning of breath. He took his last breath sitting at the kitchen table in the house where I grew up as if it was his first, quietly exhaling as he let go. A few days later grief stricken and lost I awoke from a restless sleep to the sound of a breath, loud and clear, comforting and loving, reminding me that I would always be connected in the realm of spirit to this dear teacher, my father.
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