Hillbilly Elegy

After the funeral, a number of people
told me that they appreciated my bravery
and courage. Mom was not among them,
which struck me as odd. When I located
her in the crowd, she seemed trapped in
some sort of trance: saying little, even to
those who approached her; her
movements slow and her body slouched.
Mamaw, too, seemed out of sorts.
Kentucky was usually the one place
where she was completely in her
element. In Middletown, she could never
truly be herself. At Perkins, our favorite
breakfast spot, Mamaw’s mouth would
sometimes earn a request from the
manager that she keep her voice down or
watch her language. “That fucker,” she’d