Your Entire Cat

I've been working on this story to turn in for the final paper for my Penn class, and it's still not quite hanging together. I forget what I used to do with revisions--would I start over? Mostly, I think I used to just keep writing until I figured out where the story was going. In this case, I can't get the ending right. It's too contrived.

Writing about the experience of working with organ donor families reminds me again how emotional it was--how I would get these emails from out of nowhere that would have the photo of a dead child attached to it and a note from a family member saying, "I just miss him so much." And then I'd open the file and it would be a two-year old with his puppy or a ten year old girl on a bicycle or a 40 year old man holding up a fish. The stories were infinitely interesting--I learned so much about death and ways to die--more than the average person would want to know. I think it's part of the reason I'm still a cautious driver. Lots of brain deaths are the result of car accidents. That, or drowning, or falling down the stairs, or being shot, or OD-ing, or suicide.

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