“You’ll get all of my rings when I die,” she’d said that day on the beach as she turned her face towards mine. As if the similarity of our hands had decided it for her, rather than the fact that I was her first-born, and only, daughter. Reflected in her sunglasses, I could see two tiny replicas of me.
Melissa, This paragraph takes me exactly to that spot that day with the two of you, your fourteen-year-old self being reflected back from your mom's sunglasses. It's beautiful.
I love your honoring of your lineage, your mom, your family, the complicated fact of our histories through your memoir narrative.
It's lyrical, powerful, and stunning. Thank you so much for sharing this with Age of Empathy. <3