Absolutely everything has been said about the death of the mother. It’s enormous. It’s bigger than a brontosaurus. It’s like its own planet. How in the end, the mother curls up like a fingernail or an apple stem on the coffee table. And how desperately sad that is. It’s almost unbearable. Those bastard details of the body going down. And yet, in the end, the … Continue reading The Day My Mother Died by Leanne Grabel