My Father Said I Was An Accident At A Family Barbecue Until I Responded

had just spoken.

I opened the envelope.

Three sheets of cream stationery. My mother’s handwriting, steady, not the handwriting of a sick woman. She had written this when she could still write without her hand shaking.

I began to read.

My sweet Myra.

My voice broke on the second word. I swallowed it down the way I swallow things in rooms full of people who continue reading …