Post 97.

This day
This day would be the 112th birthday of my grandmother. She’s been gone for a long time now. I think about her a lot.
In a way, she was my mother. She brought me up, she broke me down. She made me strong, she was a very strong woman herself. And she made me weak. I think, obviously, it was not intentional. She just didn’t, couldn’t see the harm building up in me.  
Recently, I stumbled over this weakness. For decades I was living around it, not noticing it. I was convinced that at a certain age, you had to be done with cleaning up the mess in you. I was caught by surprise. 
Now I think you should never aim to be finished. Always keep trying to correct, understand. Tidy up your building stones.
It’s like a sentence ending with a question mark instead of a dot.

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