In My Adult Life, I Had Spent

My Cousins And I Used To Play Beatle Wives. We All Wanted To Be Married To Paul, But John Was O.k. Too. None Of Us Wanted Ringo. Or Even Worse, George.

I Was A Daughterless Mother. I Had Nowhere To Put The Things A Mother Places On Her Daughter. The Nail Polish I Used To Paint Our Toenails Hardened. Our Favorite Videos Gathered Dust. Her Small Apron Was In A Box In The Attic. Her Shoes - The Sparkly Ones, The Leopard Rain Boots, The Ballet Slippers - Stood In A Corner.

Grief Doesn't Have A Plot. It Isn't Smooth. There Is No Beginning And Middle And End.

Time Doesn't Heal, I Had Learned, It Just Keeps Moving. And It Takes Us With It.

No One Can Write Like Cheryl Strayed.