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I will die on a Thursday morning, 6:12 a.m. to be exact. Eighty-four years to the day, hour, minute at which I was born. My mother did not know this date when she gave birth to me in the gas station bathroom just off the Interstate. She did not know ahead of time the day of her own death. I long for those innocent days. But the world has changed. There is no way to unlearn my fateful date. Knowing has changed everything.