Some bikers were painting my mother’s house pink after she died at 4 a.m., and I didn’t know any of them.Some bikers were painting my mother’s house pink after she died at 4 a.m., and I didn’t know any of them.

usual, as if instinctively I knew that answering it would change something permanent. On the other end was a voice that sounded too calm for what it was about to say.

My mother was gone.

There are no words that prepare you for that sentence. No matter your age, no matter how expected or unexpected it is, it lands the same way: like the ground just quietly continue reading …