He Said My Mother Dying Wasn’t His Problem

The roads still shone from the rain.

My mother was awake when I got there.

She looked small in the hospital bed, which made me mad in a way I can’t explain. Mothers aren’t supposed to look small. Mine especially. Mine had hands that canned peaches, scrubbed baseball uniforms, changed my oil the first time Dad was away on a work trip and I needed to continue reading …