footprints.
Auntie and me at my wedding in 2010 My Other Footprint I don’t know whether the lawn was wet from dew or if it had been freshly watered. But somehow, our feet were wet when we stepped up the 3 cement stairs to my grandmother’s front door, and my aunt clutched my arm and said, “Look!” Our footprints were exactly the same. Six years earlier, while I was spending a semester in Italy, she sent me a cookie cake for Valentine’s Day, homemade and shipped in a pizza box. I was used to receiving packages in the mail from her - she sent all her nieces and nephews a care package at college for every holiday, filled with goofy toys and candy. But nobody else got a cookie cake in a pizza box in Florence. Five years earlier, she flew to North Carolina from Boston to attend my college graduation. After my parents, sisters, and grandparents had gone home, she stayed an extra night, helping me cram my ’96 Mazda Protégé with everything I owned. She waited in the car while ...