My Mother Has Terminal Cancer, and I Can’t Seem to Stop Buying Sweaters
I’m stockpiling sweaters because they signify refuge, collecting them like talismans though grief cannot be avoided.
My mother is always cold. Growing up, we would tease her about this, my father, sisters, and me. We lived in Virginia Beach, where the air slumps, moist and warm, and where the mere sight of a snowflake triggers citywide dread. What’s more, Mom spent the first two decades of her life in Connecticut and Pennsylvania—surely the tepid winters of coastal Virginia could not perturb her.
Rachel Vorona Cote is a writer living in Washington, D.C. She has written for many venues, including the New Republic, Rolling Stone, Elle.com, Literary Hub, and was previously a contributor at Jezebel. Her first book, Too Much Is Just Enough, is forthcoming from Grand Central Publishing. Find her on Twitter here: @RVoronaCote
More by this author
More in this series
Adoption is one of those forks in the road where many of us try to glimpse through the trees to the other path, the other world.