For nine years after my father died, she stayed in the same small house with the front porch flag, the dented mailbox, and the kitchen curtains he had chosen from a discount bin because he liked the little yellow flowers.
She said changing them would make the house feel less like theirs.
So the curtains stayed.
So did the old recliner by the window.
So did the bills tucked under magnets on the fridge until she felt brave enough to open them.
That was how she survived.
She made things stretch.
