Unraveling a Legacy of Dreams and Despair
<p>How did my mother walk? What was the sound of her voice, the feel of her hands? Even her smell, coffee and Jergen’s lotion, has drifted away. When I close my eyes and think of her, all I see are a few old photos.</p>
<p>But yet, I lived with her for nearly eighteen years. Though we were not close, emotionally or physically, we visited each other occasionally until her last ten years before she died. That’s when I tried to talk to her about my childhood. It did not go well.</p>
<p>At that time, my father had nearly died and now lived with me. Mom was still in Alaska, but she called nearly every day.</p>
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