Rainy Day; Old Photos in Basement Boxes

I wish I knew more about my Mother’s childhood or even youth. Except for a few isolated glimpses, she seemed defined by two great tragedies: her father abandoned the family when she was small and her fist husband was killed in a dreadful freak accident. If I come across photos of her as a beautiful young woman I sometimes hear her voice telling me stories about those days … stories I know I’m making up in my head. She was born 106 years ago.

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