My mother, already fifteen years gone, is slipping further away from me. In February 2016, I wrote a piece called “Living Arrangements,” in which I imagined her occupying my body, “my osteoporotic spine bending to accommodate hers.” Back then, it felt as if her ghost had “moved its furnishings into my body,” just as I set up house inside her in 1945. Sh…
© 2024 Susie Kaufman
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