Today is Mama’s birthday. She’d be 99 in earth years. To commemorate her life, I’m reposting this letter I sent her the Christmas before she died. Dear Mama, I’ve been cleaning up the Christmas tree this week, sweeping pine needles and thinking of the things I’ve never said to you. They are the things no…
I was the family gift wrapper, the child asked to wrap even her own Christmas gifts. My mother would give me a taped box with an unseen gift inside. I liked nothing better than a stack of boxes, a bag of bows, and rolls and rolls of patterned paper. I loved the sounds of wrapping—the…
When we cleaned out Mama’s house, I found this letter I’d written to her the Christmas before she died. Dear Mama, I’ve been cleaning up the Christmas tree this week, sweeping pine needles and thinking of the things I’ve never said to you. They are the things no one says to me that I would…
