There is one moment from the cross-country trip I took with my mother in 2007 that will probably forever live in my mind. We were on Highway 80 going through Nebraska in the middle of a blizzard. The road was invisible, buried under a sheet of snow.
It was always hard for me to watch things like this with you. You overreacted to everything on the news. I hated that about you. Every storm, every wildfire, every random shooting, every nighttime strangler, you acted as if seeing them on the news would somehow magically make them show up at our apartment door. You issued nonsensical warnings like “Be careful out there. They’re