We are on the lawn outside the fairgrounds. I bounce up and down with unrestrained glee, because today is the first time I’ve gone to the fair. Ever. Faint screams of joy rise and fall in the background in time to the roller coaster and Tilt-A-Whirl. I can already smell the deep-fried Snickers bars. The sweet, hot scent of funnel cake is so close, I can almost taste the powdered sugar.

I remember this. I was seven. The annual state fair was a monumental experience, one my friends spoke of in excited, envy-inducing whispers. But I don’t remember my mother guiding me to a bench outside before we went in. In the memory, she wears a loose white button-up blouse under a lavender cardigan. Her straight hair is pulled back. Our shared strong jawline is lined with tension.

She sits down across from me and rubs her palms down her pants.

“Just for a minute, I promise. Then we’ll go inside.” My mother’s eyes flick over my head, like she’s looking at someone behind me. I turn to follow her gaze, but she presses fingers to my chin and turns me back. “Look at me, Bree. Then we can go inside and get fried Twinkies.”

“Okay!” I say, and bounce again.

My mother pushes out a short, fast breath, and her gaze sharpens on mine. “Mommy has to say something hard to someone else, like a speech, but I need your help practicing first. Is that okay? Will you help me practice? Mommy’s going to say a lot, and I just want you to listen for now, okay? Like the silent game.” I nod, and she reaches for my head and pulls it gently down so she can kiss the crown of my hair. “Good girl. Thank you.”

In the memory her eyes glisten with emotions I’m too young to parse, but now I can see the determination there, and the fierce pride.

“Okay, here we go.” She takes a deep breath. “Bree, if you’re seeing this again, it’s because I’m not with you.”

My younger self opens her mouth to ask what she means, but my mother shakes her head. “Silent game, remember? I’m just practicing. I know it’s confusing.”

I nod again.

Just practicing.

“I am so, so sorry, because the pain you’re in right now is pain I know well, and I hate that I’ve caused it. I hope my old charm bracelet gives you some comfort. You can’t stop sneaking into my room and playing with it at the moment, so I told your dad that I wanted it to be yours one day. I hope he gave it to you right away, but knowing him… it might take a while.”

My mother smiles fondly, but I can see the sadness there. An awareness of what my father would go through after her death. She knew she would die.