Working toward sainthood this summer solved some of my problems. For one, my daily-Mass-going mother got off my back about getting a job and moving out permanently. Plus, it gave her something to brag ... [+]
Originally published in Wolfpack Press
Every morning when I wake up, I lean out my window to say hello to Mom. She doesn't reply, but that's okay. She never was a good listener, even before she was buried in our backyard. My brother, Dill, plays there most afternoons. When other kids his age run to the playground after school, shrieking and chasing each other like little monkeys, he always comes straight home to me. He's a loner like his sister, and I'm a little bit proud of that. Wildflowers sprout from the bumpy soil where Mom sleeps. I'd like to picture them emerging from her eyes and hands and heart; those flowers will be the o