word disappeared was created.
Nobody in my family told the kind of lie you could quote cleanly.
It began with my aunt Sharon, my mother’s sister and unofficial broadcasting department.
Two months after that phone call, Sharon posted on Facebook:
“Praying for my sister through a heartbreaking season. Some children forget the people who raised them.”
No name.
None was needed.
Then came coffee hour at First Grace, the small Dayton church where my mother had run the women’s committee since before I could walk.
Someone asked where I had
