“I love you, girl.” It wasn’t the last thing he said to me, but it’s the last thing I specifically remember him saying. He never called me “girl.” It was always “sweetie” or “Mal.” Sometimes he’d sing, “Mallory, Mallory, Mallory, Mallory, life is but a dream,” and I’d laugh. This sounded different. I thought it was both cute and sincere, like he viewed me as a friend, and like he was trying to say “I love you” in a different way so I would know how much he really meant it. I got to see him just one more time after that. Our last few visits were so special to me because they were days when he was in good spirits, but I was also aware our time together was drawing short. Before I left, I hugged him, held his hand, and told him I would see him later. It’s hard to remember specifics of what we talked and laughed about in those last visits. You try to commit those final precious moments to memory, but the details kind of end up being a blur. Nothing that significant happened. I was just thankful to have more time with him.
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