The Price of Admission The day my mother died, my sisters gatheredat the kitchen table, rifled through her jewelry. I creeped upstairs to her vanity, rifled throughher junior high autograph book, stuffed it in my purse. The day my mother died, my sisters dined together,while I ate sushi with a friend, who’d lost her father. The day they buried my mother, I gave the eulogy.I took my niece to the movies. The day they buried my mother, my sisterssat on my sofa while I napped.
