I want to tell you a story, dear girl, about mothers. About how having lost one feels like a hole in your body, just above your belly button. About looking to fill that hole everywhere, in every person you meet, wondering, always: Will this person love me like she would have? Will this person love me even if I am vile, even if I cry, even if I am wrong, even if I embarrass myself, even if I am a disaster?
