become. I cried, sure, and wanted to stay a few more hours in hopes of moving to the kitchen window to watch my mother stir tuna fish and canned mushroom soup into noodles, her thoughts elsewhere as she shoved the casserole into her harvest gold oven. But after a while I realized that the body will just keep crying about the same thing forever. The human brain, when faced with years of sorrow, never gets a clue and shapes up, and time travel only makes it worse.
