Whenever someone asked about my family, I’d answer noncommittally
“I’m not really close to my family.”
It wasn’t so much that I didn’t like them or that I didn’t want them in my life. It just seemed like keeping up with them would take more effort than it was worth. Seemingly, they felt the same about me because, in the nine years between my mom’s death …
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to 27 Flower Street to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.