The Memory Star
I was twenty-eight when my Grandma Pearl passed away. I still remember every moment of that call. I knew immediately it was bad news. My great Aunt Mary didn’t make many phone calls. “Emily, are you sitting down?” Aunt Mary said. “I don’t know how to tell you this. It’s your Grandma Pearl. She died today.” I didn’t cry then, or at the funeral, or even in the several months since. Grief waited, skulking in the corners of my mind before finally sneaking up on me, like a house cat – lazy and...