We booked the inspection and decided on repairs we could afford.

It was a small victory, but it mattered.

We had lived through enough years when silence was mistaken for kindness.

In Pine Ridge, I took a week off work and finally cleaned my own apartment.

Stacks of unopened mail sat beside a chair; a half-finished painting leaned against the bedroom wall.

I had been so busy examining Mom’s life that I nearly forgot I still had one to live.