My Sand Dollar

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
My mime (grandmother in French)...seven of ten

Submitted: November 01, 2009

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Submitted: November 01, 2009

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She watches you from a distance, but when things aren’t right, which for me they often are, she comforts you by gently taking her angel hand and squeezing yours. It was a soft touch that felt like nothing more than a feather that falls lightly onto the ocean.
My mime was a sand dollar, a white, smooth sand dollar that has washed up on the beach. It was a rarity to find one that was whole but when you would find it, you would want to show it off to the world. It’s beautiful and soft and so fragile that as you touch it you are afraid it might break under your fingertips.
She was very fragile. The most that I can remember about her was when she was sick. She developed cancer when I was four or five. I remember her sitting on the couch in her house with the big window wall that faced the front yard and the street and watching as I played. I would sit next to her and she would run her cold as ice fingers through my brown hair. I loved my mime. For some reason, I think that she would have been my best friend. She would have been everything to me.
My mime is a sand dollar and when she broke, the sea cried.


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