About five years after my mother died, I was on a consulting project for a month or so in Pleasanton, a town in Northern California not far from Livermore, where my mother spent the last decades of her life.  The hospital she died in was located in Pleasanton.
 
As my project wound down, I felt it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t at least see that hospital before I left—a much-belated visit, to be sure, but it was better than never having visited it at all.

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