My Son Said I’d Be Taking The Bus—Until I Opened The Glovebox

one addressed to Andrew.

Andrew,

I love you. I raised you. But I don’t trust what you’re becoming.

Your mother is not a project. She is not an asset to manage. She is the woman who held this family together for thirty-six years while I worked late and missed dinners and forgot birthdays. She doesn’t owe you an explanation for how she lives her life.

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