• My hand ran across every patch. It was a blanket made from her clothes;they

    made each patch a piece of clothing, a piece of her life. Each patch was a time in her life. The

    blanket would have been bigger if her life wasn't cut so short, if she would have pulled the

    trigger, if I hadn't heard the shot. If my mother wouldn't have died, my blanket of her would be

    bigger.