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Not a celestial day passes I don’t think of the moment I died and how long my sister held me under water, the patio radio playing Beatles songs I could no longer hear, and after a brief struggle, how relaxed I’d become, my lungs full of water, and all ambient light fading into darkness.

My sister, Amber, a rising third grader who’d just celebrated her eighth birthday and held title to scads of smiley-faced school papers plastered across our refrigerator door, was as strong as a bull. And wicked….

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