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Myra Leon

My mother died Saturday, 21 November, killed by COVID-19.

One of 255,000 Americans who did not have to die.

And counting. Still. Counting.

Aided and abetted by mass murderer Donald J. Trump, loser, and his accomplices — all of them dishonest, all of them irresponsible, all of them pathetic, all of them contemptible, all of them cowards, all of them traitors to the oath of office they take to preserve, protect and defend. Lock them up, every damnable one of them. Then go to hell.

Myra Leon, age 90; daughter of Jack and Rebecca; wife to and predeceased by Jerome; mother of Steven, David and Robert; mother in law to Jacquela, Ellen and Karen; grandmother to Justin, Amy, Adam, Stacy, Harley, Brody, Jadin; great-grandmother to Emma and Sofie; shepherd to Dynamite and Muffie; columnist at the Journal News; knitter, mahjong player, guide to field trips to the museum, passionate listener to Saturday matinee broadcasts of opera.

She loved well. She was well loved. She lived well. She lived long. She died early.

Pacem.

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