Nine Years After Her Mother Buried Her Trinity Returned With One Message

menu. Hot fudge, whipped cream, everything.

My father watched me eat and said, “Get another one if you want.”

I did.

Nine years of dreaming about small ordinary things, and that sundae tasted exactly as good as I had spent all that time imagining it would.

Potter women don’t break, my grandmother used to say. We bend, and then we snap back.

I bent. God,continue reading …