every week, every tuesday i talk to my grandmother. she lives in colorado. the more we talk, the more i realize how eerily similar we are. there’s the chasing of sunsets and handwritten letters and calls to say thank you for thank you note and despair upon seeing buckets of snow falling from the sky and wondering how the tiny clouds could hold so much and the exhaustion of winter and the gigantic never ending impossible wish for family to be closer to combat the bone deep ache of loneliness.
could this all be genetic or did she teach her habits to my mother and my mother taught them to me?
Abigail Mumford 