My mother’s last words to me were nothing much. No parting words of love. No heartfelt messages to the grandchildren. Read more.
My mother is gone, but when she died, she left a few things behind — a battered old purse, a small sofa she liked to call the loveseat.
Those ugly blood-red snapdragons are gone from our front yard. I pulled them out, and my rock garden is the better for it.
I don’t like the snapdragons growing in my front yard. Their color, somewhere between scarlet and maroon, gets on my nerves. If I rip them in full bloom out of the ground am I an assassin? They may be ugly, but they are alive.