I was seven years old when my Mom died. It was summer, 1965, in the San Gabriel valley and she had asthma. It seemed to be under control until one morning in July when she had an attack that not even my Dad, a doctor, could do anything about. Neither could the paramedics. She was DOA. My brothers were 5 and 3.
At that time, my biggest concern was who was going to do my hair for me. I had long...
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