My Seventy Eight Year Old Neighbor Gave Me A Key To Her Shed And I Was Not Ready For What I Found

loneliness of believing yourself abandoned move across my mother’s face in real time, each sketch a year, each year a loss that had been privately and faithfully mourned.

“She kept drawing the same face,” my mother said finally, her voice very low. “Over and over. As though she was trying not to forget.”

In the morning we went to the cemetery together.continue reading …