My name is Theresa, and I am sixty-three years old.
I’ve been a widow for most of my adult life.
When my husband died, my daughter Mary Lou was still small enough to fit on my hip. From that day forward, it was just the two of us against the world.
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My name is Theresa, and I am sixty-three years old.
I’ve been a widow for most of my adult life.
When my husband died, my daughter Mary Lou was still small enough to fit on my hip. From that day forward, it was just the two of us against the world.
For six years, I believed my son had walked away from me without looking back. The morning he finally came home, I thought I…