Paste notes, stories, texts, dates, traits, or rough thoughts. Get a respectful first draft that uses only what you provide.
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My father Bill spent thirty-eight years in construction. He started laying brick at seventeen and ended up running crews. He came home with his hands cracked and kept showing up the next morning.
He was not a hugger. He would clap your shoulder, and that was a lot from him. He was the one who refilled your drink at parties before you noticed it was empty. He was quiet, but he was paying attention.
He taught me to drive in the cemetery parking lot. He said, "no one to hit out here, no one to honk."
He loved fly fishing and was terrible at it and did not care. When he stopped going last year, that was when we knew. He hated being made a fuss over.
My mother June was a pediatric nurse for thirty-six years. She held a lot of small hands. She held ours too.
She had an answer for almost everything. The rare thing about her was that she also said "I don't know" easily. She was the listener at parties. She made us read aloud at Sunday dinner, from books we chose ourselves.
She grew tomatoes, and she may or may not have liberated one or two from over the neighbour's fence. She loved our father. They fought about the thermostat for forty-two years and I do not believe either of them ever won.
She told me once, "be kind, it costs you nothing." I am still working on it. We all are. That is the part of her we get to carry forward.
My brother Danny was forty-seven. Our relationship was not simple, but it mattered. There were parts of his life that were difficult, and today I want to focus on what I am able to carry forward.
He taught me to ride a bike when I was six and he was twelve. He made up songs about the dog. Very stupid songs. They were the best songs we had. He could read a room better than anyone I have ever known.
He had two kids. He did not get to be the father he wanted to be for them. They are here today.
I am not going to pretend he was easy. He was not. But there were good years, the early ones especially, and they were ours. That is the part I am keeping.
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The draft is plain. It sounds like a person who loved someone, not like a greeting card. You can refine it through guided revisions, and then it is yours.
It is not a replacement for talking to the people around you. It is a way to get the first sentence on the page.