I have been thinking about death a lot recently. And loss. And things ending. My girls aren’t little anymore.

Question: What does a bolt of fabric, a fiddlehead fern and your spiritual journey all have in common? They can unfurl. They begin by looking one way and slowly, but surely, with a little help are allowed to open up to reveal their full shape and potential.

Have you ever written to yourself? For yourself? From yourself? I’m starting to and I have already learned a lot.

So…we were supposed to go on a girls summer road trip. We were supposed to visit my uncles at the beach. We were supposed to leave on Monday at nine o’clock. But it is Monday. At 10 o’clock. And here we sit. Drinking hot water. That is actually coffee. Covid.

Acorns pelted the wooden planks at our feet. The squirrels chattered at us from the branches above. I was sitting on the deck with my mom, the yard spread out before us, dappled with sunlight and fallen oak leaves. Knees to my chest, cardigan wrapped tight, I was crying. Again.

About a week before my senior year of college, my grandmother handed me an envelope during one of our regular visits to her house.