Some stories are still waiting-- in quiet places, in moments that seem small until they are gone.
What We Built Instead
In my first fragment, I wrote that it took me years to understand that our home wasn't truly a signing home. It took me even longer to understand the love behind it.
The Hands That Shaped Me
"I was beginning to sense that my father and mother spoke in different ways, living in different worlds of communication that I would learn to move between."
The First Train Ride 