I Came Home From My Sister’s Funeral And Found My Life Thrown Across The Yard

Robert used to be, and for the son who had allowed his wife to pack my life into bags while I was at a funeral.

Then the tears stopped.

I wiped my face, straightened my back, and took out my phone.

I photographed everything.

The room. The mattress. The gray window. The suitcases. The photos. The shawl. The baby albums.

Then I opened the notebook I had kept continue reading …