If the muffins had been good, we’d have eaten them and gone to bed. But the story of their catastrophic badness: that, we could forever savor.
I've long been taught that the appearance of a good marriage, not a good marriage necessarily, is the ultimate goal.
There is no guidebook or set of rules for us to follow; there is no concrete “American” etiquette around death.
I wish I could talk to my mom about the irony that, forty years later, shelves are being ransacked and we are standing in lines to buy bread.
I pray my baby will love their body, or at least accept it, and carry it around the world, just as I have carried them too, with pride and joy.