A love letter to my daughter and her passing speech impediment
When you’re young, your imagination is a jungle with colorful birds flying about and scaly-skinned reptiles and slithering snakes at your feet. Lions roar and giraffes graze among the high trees plucking the vegetation from its branch. The world is vast, the world is new. The world is shiny. At some point in life, I’m not exactly sure when though I think it’s 12 years old, that shine starts to dull and wear off.
My grandmother suffers from dementia. These are my letters to her. Your fingernails were long and well manicured. Long, gentle strokes you made on my tiny back.