Her hair was red, but not nearly as red as the area rug that sat atop the aqua-green carpet in her living room. She was short and plump, yet not as round as the peanut M&Ms we ate while drinking coffee and discussing theology. Though nearly sixty years old, her Irish eyes sparkled with a childlike joy that, for a long time, I didn’t realize was caused by an opioid coursing through her veins…

Praise the Lord

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