From Our Listeners

May 20, 2012 She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. Her son lay dying on the other side, his blue, pale skin in stark contrast to the bright red blanket on his bed. His gray eyes looked at her dully as she entered the room.

Summary

May 19, 2012 She closed the book, placed it on the table, and, finally, decided to walk through the door. We didn't talk about her, after she left. It was as though her absence, painted gray against the vacated chair, took on a permanence of its own. A relic of her being that prevented any discussion, any mention, of her lack.

Summary

May 19, 2012 She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. The sticky Georgia heat almost drove her back onto the worn motel carpeting. Back into hesitancy. But Annie reached across the threshold and pulled the door shut with unaccustomed intention.

Summary

May 17, 2012 She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. As simple as that. The only memory I have of her is the book, always holding the book. No one knows where she went, or if they do, they don't want to tell me.

Summary

May 17, 2012 "She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door." This moment would now be frozen in time. Her head still swayed and her eyes still clouded with tears. Her mind swirled with a million thoughts as she shivered with the gravity of what had just occurred.

Summary

May 14, 2012 One listener, caring for the 92-year-old mother, says it's about family not money, nor politics.

Summary