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I grew up in New Orleans where most folks believe in ghosts, signs, omens and the power of voodoo right along with that of the Roman Catholic archbishop. I am down with that. My father died shortly after I turned 10. I’ve often wondered if he would be proud of the woman I am. My stepfather died in the early 90s and he never failed to let me know he was proud of me.
The death that affects me most is my mother’s. For most of our lives we were at odds. Maybe it was because I was so like her. Maybe it was because I never met her dreams for me.
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