Lori Harper

Unspoken

I am the last to dig through the half-filled boxes stacked along the wall of the crowded room. The familiar varnished bedroom set has yellowed and the wooden drawers groan after opening and closing thousands of times. Wake. Dress. Undress. Rest. Repeat. The hours between wake and rest were filled with responsibilities, joy, tears, love, fear, regret. This repetition defined her last sixty-six years of marriage and mothering and defined who she was to each of us; but each of our definitions were very different.