Awoken with a start from restless sleep on my mother’s sofa, I grope not for my watch or the battery-operated alarm clock. I do not reach for my smudged glasses, either, but instead, fumble for the switch on the floor to turn on the Christmas tree lights. Each evening I…

I climb the stairs and duck under the canopy shielded entrance to Miller Funeral Home. The plum colored tarp bends and twists from the force of the thirty-mile an hour wind. With effort, I heave the glass door open, lodging it with my elbow until I manage to scuttle into…

Witness: A Contemporary American Memoir

My Ukrainian father lost his family, home, and country to war, my English mother sacrificed hers for marriage, and I spent my life looking for mine.

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