The Sweetness of Forgetting

by Kristin Harmel

When I was in grade school, Mamie used to tell me that each new morning was like unwrapping a gift from God. This used to confuse me, because she wasn’t a big churchgoer. But in the evenings, when my mother and I would visit for dinner, we’d sometimes find her bowed slightly at the waist, facing the back window, praying softly as the light fell from the sky. “I prefer to have my own relationship with God,”