My Mom Will Email Me After She Dies
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When my mom makes our family Christmas cookies, she no longer needs a recipe. Instead, we stand side by side in the kitchen while I follow her muscle memory, rolling Russian tea cakes in powdered sugar and pressing the bottoms of forks into the dough balls for chocolate crinkle cookies. But my mom is Type A to a : She’s scanned the pages of step-by-step instructions and keeps them organized on her Google Drive, just in case. And she’s already made sure that, when she dies—whenever that awful day might come—the folder containing
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