Anya Yurchyshyn

“What I was reading contradicted what I'd long ago decided: that my parents had never been happy with each other, never had hope. I couldn't believe that my father could have been so articulate and vulnerable, or that my mother had ever adored him so intensely. My brain was in revolt. What I was reading seemed to have been written by stranger, not the people I'd known. I read their letters again and again, arguing with what I found. But as I continued to find proof of their love, I realized that I was defending the story I'd arrived with against mounting counter-evidence, and losing.”
― Anya Yurchyshyn, My Dead Parents: A Memoir