all i carry are her stories. my stories. and the place where our stories intersect. for a long time that simply wasn’t enough for me. i wanted more. it wasn’t fair that she was dying. i was a stomping toddler crying for her mother. i was lost in the mall needing her hand, her embrace. what i wanted was mother love. i’ve come to realize that what i have is stories. that’s all. and that is plenty, because it’s all i’ll ever have.