The Shoebox

When I was a kid I would watch my relatives go to El Salvador and leave my mother and I behind. She and I would write letters to our family and my aunt and cousin would take them to the rest of our family. Usually I didn’t know what to say. In many cases I only knew who I was addressing through my mother’s stories because I couldn’t remember the sound of anyone’s voice. I couldn’t tell my relatives apart in pictures without my mother’s help.

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