A Flower Taught My Mother HowTo Die


  • A Flower Taught My Mother How To Die

    The apartment smelled of Jean Nate and Lysol. On the wall near the bathroom hung a plaque I had given her years earlier. It read: “The best things in life are not things.” The sound of the oxygen machine kept time with her antique clock. There lay my mother, small on her pillows in the rented hos...