[ WP ] The air left my lungs

I was born in a small home just outside of Lincoln, Nebraska on July 17th, 1930. I came out screaming and my mother tells me I never stopped making noise. Life was full of action in my eyes; and as soon as I learned to speak, I wanted to share every moment aloud. 
 
 `` Look there's a bird. And it has a worm in its mouth.'' 
 
 `` He's tripping over that root. And he just hit his head.'' 
 
 `` I'm hungry and do n't know what to eat. So, I'm just biting my fingernails instead.'' 
 
 I just could n't seem to keep a thought in my head. My father liked to say that I was giving play-by-play for the blind angels. And my brother liked to say, `` Shut the hell up.'' 
 
 Each day was something new to see and a story to tell. I gave words for every moment I could. I shared every thought. I observed every action. And life was never ceasing. 
 
 And then, when I was eighty-three, my heart gave a final beat. My blood stopped running around.The air left my longs. My brain lost function. And I came to rest. Life ceased to be.
