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Readers' stories about the things that end up mattering.
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My mother loved the rain. After she died I could not stand the sound of it.
For a year it was just water on a roof. Then I did something about it.
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The last ordinary thing my mother and I did together was sit and listen to the rain
A wet Tuesday in November and two cups of tea going cold.
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I made it so that the rain would still mean something after she was gone
A person can take a kind of weather with them.
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