Chapter 25 - My Mother’s Three Jobs

On the anniversary of Mom’s death, Leo and I visited her grave.
I brought flowers.
Leo brought the cracked blue shell.
He sat on the grass.
“She’d be mad you kept that.”
“I know.”
“She’d say electronics are tools, not sacred objects.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
Then placed the fragment beside the headstone for a minute.
Not leaving it.
Just showing her.
Mom had worked three jobs because systems failed families like ours.
No insurance coverage.
No generous endowment.
No donor ceremony.
She saved.
Dollar by dollar.
Bryce destroyed the object.
He did not destroy what it represented.
Choice.
Access.
Love expressed as labor.
May you like
Leo put the shell back into his pocket.
We left together.