Bobbi toddles from the bed to the closet to the bathroom to the end table to the dresser
to the bed again, red-eyed from sobbing. “Mom, please,” I kiss her head, coaxing
the dead to stop living, “you have my consent, if you need it.” Then she hugs me even
tighter, saying nothing, and she rubs my back, small circles, no endings, no beginnings.
