Ghostwriter
This was him. He was the guy in charge. Everything he had worked for was being lost and taken away from him. He had very few choices to make. What he decided to do was go out in blaze of glory and singing all the way.
I am pretty tenderhearted. The last time I saw my mom she wasn’t strong enough to talk. She could squeeze my hand a bit. We took her to where my sister could play some of her favorite songs. You could tell she was enjoying it. Finally, my sister played “How Great Thou Art.” No sound came out of that tiny worn out body, and yet she mouthed every word of that song. The memory is bittersweet, and priceless.
