Today's writing

Mom died on a vent. We clutched hands, cried at the iPhone camera. Ridiculous, really, except it was real fucking life. No one last chance to stroke her cheek, feel her breath on my face as she whispered those last words. We were maskless, Kelly and me, because it was only us. No way to enter the hospital except through technology. We had a bag of chips between us and I found myself eating them like there was no goddamned tomorrow, just macking away on the faux-Doritos from Trader Joe’s. The crumbs fell on our chests, our laps. They decorated our chins. We said goodbye to my mother with junk food on our breath.