Dented and dirty, it rolled right out of my façade of middle-classness. Roaring down the Georgia backroads, tools rattled across the floor with each turn. Daddy died on a Friday. But I think it was really Tuesday. Mama had waited until I arrived to remove his ventilator. Walking around our Philadelphia neighborhood with my spouse and young son, suddenly, I began to cry. She’d traded his van to pay the plumber, Mama said. With all of his things still in it. I clutched my body as if I lost my keys, my phone, my glasses, hoping to find something there.
Stephanie Abraham is an Associate Professor at Rowan University. She writes professionally and creatively about life, language, and teaching. Twitter: @stephlabraham