Leftover Love

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Caroline Roberts. Don Vito Radice. Andreina E Perez. Helen Keller. Birdie Chesson.

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R G Myers. Bestselling Series. Harry Potter. Popular Features. New Releases. Leftover Love.

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I Still Have Lots of Leftover Love for You

The Giver of Stars Jojo Moyes. The Seven Sisters Lucinda Riley. The Sun Sister Lucinda Riley. Regretting You Colleen Hoover. The Christmas Party Karen Swan. One Day in December Josie Silver. Before Anna Todd.

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Christmas Shopaholic Sophie Kinsella. The Storm Sister Lucinda Riley.

  • Table of Contents.
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After We Collided Anna Todd. The Bookshop on the Shore Jenny Colgan. After We Fell Anna Todd. After Ever Happy Anna Todd. Looking For Alaska John Green. An Island Christmas Jenny Colgan. Confusion Elizabeth Jane Howard. The Course of Love Alain de Botton.

Leftover Love

Nine Perfect Strangers Liane Moriarty. The Moon Sister Lucinda Riley. Darker E. After Anna Todd. Me Before You Jojo Moyes.

Leftover Love Left Us Nothing Than Love

He took the long path…two and a half years. He should have died the night his head smashed against that truck, against concrete. A broken jaw, broken pelvis, broken arm, broken leg, broken brain. Everything healed but the brain. Then his kidneys ran out. Five days a week, he was transferred to dialysis, which kept him alive. But what kind of life was it? Away from his home, very little memory or understanding to help him, totally dependent in every way, unable to walk, unable to swallow.

After awhile, I could only visit four or five times a week. Maybe he lived for those brief weekends, when I could bring the children to see him, when there might be a party of friends, musicians. Not that he understood weekends. It was as if we were in a long distance relationship.

paradigmpartners.com.au/includes/record/african-black-ant-male-enhancement.php I remember once in a phone call across the world, he said it was like we were meeting in spirit in another space, above the clouds, above the earth. Like we were together somewhere else, not just talking by phone. I thought he would die last January. It seemed as if spirit was trying to leave his body. I was convinced of it, so much so that I even prepared his teenaged son. I remember grieving him that weekend, convincing myself it was time to let go.

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I painted a picture of a spaceship and an empty wheelchair. And then he was better again…his spirit was back in his body. But after that, I thought about things differently. I realized that the time I had left with him was a gift. It was still hard, but I began to feel more invigorated on my drives up to see him. Those letters spoke to his sense of identity more than anything else had. I could see how moved he was by the bold proclamations of love of his year old self. I was so grateful to these once-lost letters, for coming to the surface when we most needed them.

He spoke about love often. He was more likely to remember my name. He was a soul in the world. And he loved me deeply, even though it was all he could do. I am still in love with him. Both versions, and even now…a third version, his ghost. It still feels like he loves me. Maybe its not him at all, but all the extra love I pulled out of him when he should have died. I squeezed it out of him, drop by drop. Maybe he stayed alive long enough for me to get it all. Yet…to name this love is to begin to touch the pain.