I Said “Okay” And Packed Before They Knew What I’d Sent

Left

Grandma June died on a Tuesday in February with snow stacked in gray ridges along the curb and a heating pad tucked behind her back because her bones hurt in damp weather. She smelled like Ivory soap and peppermints and the hand lotion she bought at Dollar General even when I offered to get her nicer stuff.

She left me enough for school.

Not enough continue reading …