My mom with me (I was about six here) and my brother, Kelly “Kel” Morgan. I never lacked for books, as you can see from the stack of Little Golden Books on the nightstand (Rota, Spain, 1987).
What would’ve been my mother’s 69th birthday passed on the 23rd of April—a day when we would’ve gone to all the different Firehouse Subs and gotten (or haggled for) her free sandwich. I still remember her precise order and how she would flip her wiggins if cheese were on it. “They slop cheese on everything now,” she always said. Of course, I’d buy a brownie or two so we wouldn’t look like greedy a-holes trolling for handouts.
Since then, I’ve been to her marker, now headstone, twice. My grandmother was relieved that Ann was included on the stone, as all the other military headstones just had the middle initial. Bernadean (my grandmother) was…
View original post 937 more words