One Year of Letters


Dear Kerry,

Rain falls, encasing the ground in a coffin of ice. Footing proves treacherous. You must hold handrails to progress, must cling to the car as you chip chunks from the windows and around the door. The cold bites your cheeks and nose, but soon the comforts of a warmed car envelop you.

You see your daughter safely inside, mittened hands covering her ears. She rocks like a metronome, marking time unattended, each moment a mini-torture. She rips the knitted cap from her head, throws the mittens to the floor, and wraps her fingers in her hair, twirling the dark mane until it rips from her head and sprinkles her lap. This trichotillomania defines her hairstyles. She wants long, flowing “princess” hair, but with lengthening, she pulls more and creates bald spots on her head. So, her hair is kept short.

You open the door. “Please stop…

View original post 531 more words