Right before my wedding day, I stopped by my future mother-in-law’s house. As I was leaving, I realized I had forgotten my cardigan

home and reached for my coat.

The passenger seat was empty.

My cream cardigan was still at Eleanor’s condo, draped across the back of her dining chair. The cardigan had two tiny embroidered flowers near the collar, stitched by my mother’s own weakened hands. She said one flower meant peace. The other meant protection. It was the last thing she ever made continue reading …