I can still remember that day—April 24, 2014. No, not the day she died—but the day that would foretell her impending death, another five and a half months away or so. But none of us knew it just then. Not Mom. Not Dad. Not me. It was an ordinary Thursday, a day of the week on which Mom and I usually headed to the neighboring town just a few minutes north of us. The sky was overcast, with the sun just barely peeking through the clouds. We were going to mail a package, check out the new deals at Rite-aid, and most importantly—get our favorite treats at Geissler’s. You see, no trip there was ever complete without a variety of their chicken wings, beef barley soup, and an occasional whipped cream dessert. Especially when Mom had just gotten a clean bill of health from her doctor a day ago: we were more than ready to indulge. And me, I was relieved that I had—at long last—submitted my introductory chapter for my then forthcoming book on Thomas Paine’s
Well ... confirms my confidence in your writing skills. I felt like I was there in a way. And I feel also that i understand you personally just a little better. Thanks, Frances.
Well ... confirms my confidence in your writing skills. I felt like I was there in a way. And I feel also that i understand you personally just a little better. Thanks, Frances.