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Our vows sealed with a kiss.
Above my desk are pictures of the dead.
You were always tender with an infant in your arms.
I’m glad our children identify as Mexican, even if they’re only Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.
When you blow out the candles, I make a wish you’ll live to see another day.
When did we start calling each other Mama and Daddy?
You used to be our daughter’s shoulder to lean on. Now she is yours.