A Tupperware Coffin

Urn

  Mama ordered a $10 plastic urn. The nit-pickiest woman on planet earth – the very same woman who pitched a hissy fit if my roots were showing, or if I went to town without lipstick on, the woman who spent the last hours of her life shopping for the perfect leather purse — picked [Read More...]

Getting Mama Ready

The Last Bath

  In 1966, when we got word of my father’s death, it was my brother’s crying that frightened me most. The way he beat at the wall and yelled about the men he would grow up and kill one day.  Mama had worried that her death would undo Frank. Maybe she’d remembered his cries from [Read More...]

Heaven on Parkchester Drive

Shawshank

There are stacks of books on my mother’s dressers, piles of books on her bedside table, and another stash of books inside the pouch of her walker-on-wheels. The trouble is she can’t read any of the books — the brain tumors have robbed her of one of her greatest enjoyments — reading. So the reading of [Read More...]


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