The Message From My Son That Forced An Impossible Choice – The Archivist

a rebellious phase when I was twelve.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” I say, raising my fork. “A little late, but still.”

She smiles, and it reaches her eyes for the first time in months. “Right on time, sweetheart. Right on time.”

We eat pie and talk about normal things. Whether to plant soybeans or corn in the south field next spring. What color to paint the continue reading …