Sunday, February 25, 2018

The Little Girl Next Door

At fourteen I babysat the baby girl next door. I adored her. She was a sparkplug – always smiling, always dragging sunshine through every room behind her. She couldn’t say my name, so I became Meenie. When she was three, her family moved away. I saw her again when she was five, and then last year I read her obituary. Breast cancer.

1 comment:

  1. My second Wow on your blog today. That's rough. Life is shocking and hard.


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