In Detroit, Michigan, Wilbur Clemons, a 69-year-old Black man, left behind a quiet space in the world that once felt solid and certain to the people who loved him. His death did not just mark the end of a single life; it scattered a thousand small routines and familiar comforts that had quietly held together days, weeks, and years. Where his presence had once been taken for granted—the sound of his voice, the way he moved through a room, the steady reliability of his being—there is now a sil
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