My Cardboard Balcony

The Mail Today by Belinda Roddie The mail today wasn't much, honestly: just junk and the New Yorker magazine. I didn't read any of it, you see, and dumped it into the recycling bin. I used to be an avid porer of these flimsy texts, but now I'm resigned to flicking my thumb across a screen. I love the flicker of the sites I still peruse, the interaction with the writers as they scurry around social media. Still, I enjoy a letter or a mass message from some cornucopia of activists. Though paper is a waste, the tactile experience is embraced.

Marty died of toxic shock syndrome after getting surgery on his gallbladder, and everyone was stunned by it. We had never expected something like this to happen: Marty had been strong, healthy, and so full of life. To lose him so young and in so vibrant a state was too much for my mother, Patty, who packed a single suitcase and traveled to her home city of Winnipeg, where she lived for the rest of her life.