Love and Grief at the Edge of the Marsh
“When your husband is dying and your child is on the cusp of forming actual memories, nothing in the world makes sense.”
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I’m stockpiling sweaters because they signify refuge, collecting them like talismans though grief cannot be avoided.
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.