​That year, when Dad fell into a coma, which would last for seven years. 

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When I fell into clinical depression, without knowing, nor having ever heard about it. 

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When each of the four women in our family learned to grieve differently, quarreling and guilt-riding one another for days, weeks, months. Such was the culture of our dysfunctional family,

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but we were always there to give a hand to feed, bathe, clean Dad. 

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When we lost him but somehow found one another.