but that’s not what she told me.

Photo by Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash

i often think about how there tends to be a grave difference between what’s heard in public spaces and the secrets whispered in private.

my mom’s last words to the world weren’t identical to the string of vowels and consonants that she spoke to me.

when the doctors informed her that intubation was up next, she requested that the story end there. that they do nothing.