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Heather Hopp-BruceBoston Globe |
Distance isn’t even the worst part. It’s time. Where did my little girl go? Where, for that matter, did I go?
At our last reunion, we didn’t know it was the last time we would be together. What now?
For poor gardeners like me, they read like an obituary to past plantings.
Your middle-aged self owes it to your much younger self to lighten up and dance a little.
I could have made time to buy a new black shirt in those short days between the news of her death and the wake, but I didn’t believe it was true...
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