I SAW THE ENVELOPE FIRST. My name was finely written on the paper. The writer must have taken their time and have a good knowledge of calligraphy, I thought, scared to think of anything else. Seeing my full name sparked something in me. I have not been called by my middle name since my mother passed.
She would say it was the best name in the world. That it was a name that meant so much to her in one of the most depressing times in her life. And she had lots of those.
I loved the name. It made me feel particularly connected to her. I remember watching her face light up as she laid on the hospital bed one evening, her weary eyes making an effort to glow. I took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She sighed with content.
