Yesterday was the one year anniversary of my sister’s death. I wrote this piece last year, just after she died. I’m re-posting today in remembrance.
Around 12:45 in the morning, on Saturday, July 27th, I broke a glass. I didn’t mean to do it, but it happened all the same. I knew the glass was slick, as there had been a cold perspiration about it for days. I knew it was slippery, so I grasped it tightly in my right hand. I was very conscious of that glass, and I was so careful, so gentle when I held it.
It wasn’t a fancy glass, but it meant a lot to me. You know how when you get really thirsty, and you open the cabinet to grab a glass so you can get a drink, and the first one you look for is that one, the one cup that feels just right in your hand, the one that seems to make your drink colder on a hot day? Yeah, that one. Sometimes, that special…
View original post 587 more words