The sun started to fall below the rooftops of the houses that lined against our own. Crockpots and slow cookers stood together like a row of soldiers atop the kitchen counter, working patiently toward the evening’s meal. I felt my hands trembling as I mustered the courage to speak. The sentence was caught in my throat. My mother was halfway out the back door when it happened.…
A Mother’s Perspective: Letting Go of Envisioned Futures
Posted on May 10, 2019
