I thought about the last time we'd heard from Nana -- a birthday card she's sent to [my sister] Grace back in October. I had felt so sad for her, ignored by our family for years on end. Happy birthday, Grace, she'd written. I'll bet you are growing up beautiful. Wish I could hear from someone. I love you. As little as I'd seen Nana, she hadn't missed sending us birthday cards in all my years. Like my mother, I had seen her efforts as a pitiful substitute for having a real presence in our lives, but now the gesture seemed like determined persistence -- an effort to maintain an open door despite my parents' attempts to seal all doors shut. Nana had been trying to show that she loved us, even though she couldn't be around us.
-- Megan Phelps-Roper, Unfollow, p. 223
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