Friday, June 22, 2012
My mother frequently sends me care packages. I don't need them, I'm not in a place where dried goods from trader joes or soft cotton skirts will save me from the brink of homelessness. But there they are, beautiful boxes lined with tissue paper and sticky notes with cursive script "don't put this in the drier, it will shrink" or "you liked these wasabi almonds when you were here" ... And that's why mothers are never done, never an empty nest, never ever will I not need her. I didn't need that but I needed the handwritten note.