My mother has been sending me letters lately. Not letters intended for me but rather letters she has been writing to various people in her life—important influences, she calls them. Relatives, friends, former classmates, coworkers. She has been writing two or three letters a week and sending them to me via email to look over and send back to her with comments. You’re a professor, she tells me, you know the right way to put these things. She says she wants me to be brutally honest with her, to pull no punches, but I rarely have anything negative to say. These letters are beautiful, after all. Not only beautifully written but filled with genuine emotion, honesty, thoughtfulness, insight. Each one is like a little portrait of…
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