PART 1: THE MIRROR
My mother died when I was born. My father was wracked with guilt for years afterward, although there was nothing he could have done about it. In my bedroom, there hung a huge circular mirror, much larger than I was at that time. My father used to say, “Your mirror is a window onto the world, and the world will watch over you while you sleep.” He also once said, “It was your mother’s mirror, and I can’t bear to see her face in it. So she can stay with you, and watch your world.” He only said that second thing the once, though, and I was halfway drifted to sleep as he stroked my hair, so I was never absolutely certain. He certainly never said it again. Continue reading
