I had said one thing, to one cousin, about not leaving the children alone with my mother anymore.

Within a day it had traveled the length of the extended family, and by the end of it my mother was the injured party.

The version that reached me had me storming into her house screaming, had me poisoning the grandchildren against her, had me inventing grievances because I had always been difficult.

An uncle sent Lowell a message telling him to get his sister under control before she embarrassed the family at Mother’s church.

A cousin observed that people always exaggerate their childhoods these days, that it was fashionable to blame your mother for everything.

Another sent a long note about how much our mother had sacrificed and how sharp the world was and how she had only ever tried to prepare us for it.