The Ruark Kids


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I often go into the girls’ room when they are sleeping, put my hand on them, and just feel and listen to them breathe. I force myself to concentrate my senses on the activity: the sound of their breathing, whether it is relaxed or troubled by a cold; the fall of light on their faces, always angelic in repose; the presence of a rotating cast of stuffed animals and baby dolls. This is but one of many moments I attempt to imprint in my memory, in the hopes that I never forget.

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