I watched as my grandmother waded her dry, cracked feet in the pond. She sat hunched over, her thinning gray hair blowing gently in the calming wind. She was alone now for the first time in her adult life, left to her empty house and lonesome thoughts. Her baggy clothes were a sign of malnourishment,… Continue reading Withering Woman
I never do well at these things, but then again who does? There's obviously nothing happy, nor exciting, about funeral parlors and reasons for being at one. As I rest in a dimly lit area of the room, the mirage of voices and sobs becomes a discomfort to my ears. I never quite know how to act, or what to say, especially to those who offer condolences and it is our first encounter in over a decade.