I’m a Previvor
The test would tell me if I’d develop the cancer my dad died from.
Extending LifeThat’s sad.Extending Life
Extending LifeI could have been Woodward, or at least Bernstein
Extending LifePeopleCat Fancy
This really isn’t about you
Thisis the saddest silence of my entire life
Good thing my mother didn’t have that option
This is a good time to live alone
Aha! It’s my turn!
You love saying “carpeted with polyps!”
Jean is a writer who now lives in Brooklyn, after spending a decade in London and Berlin. She's written for all kinds of publications—most recently, The Happy Reader, The Guardian, The Observer, The Pool, Red Magazine, Conde Nast Traveller and The Billfold. She's working on an essay collection. @jhedelstein
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More in this series
I grew up with food stamps, latchkeys, Lee jeans from an outlet, Campbell’s soup, three deadbeat dads, and a mother who wrote letters to a TV evangelist praying for a husband.
“There’s definitely a ton of colored people here!” a white guy told me. “I mean, people of color. That’s what I said, right?”
My connections to the country and its people, my family, didn’t require control or even words. Touch, color, and togetherness were enough.