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UnpuggedA short story by Rachel Harris Her lips and her forehead were the only place on her face where wrinkles rested. My Grandmother. The woman could bake a pie while she built a shed in the backyard, and she did. She worked hard but stayed soft. When the cancer became aggressive, that was the first time I saw her cry. “I don’t want to live this way” she said that day in the car after her second round of chemo. “And I don’t want to die.” I could feel her desperation for us to understand. She was a spiritual woman who believed in Christ...
Weekly Contest #43
Our assembly was always one of laughter and togetherness. We are the type of family that faced every challenge together. When my father died, that day, everything went silent. The laughter stopped, my sister withdrew, I became the matriarch. As my mother moved in with me, I could feel her confusion but I couldn't always see it. Trauma has a way of igniting more problems and chaos.I didn't cry when my husband left, it was a relief, though sad to say. Sometimes, emotional abuse makes you numb, in my case, it allowed me to push forward with all...
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