I’m not rehashing the last 12 days. I’m just not. There’s nothing I can add there.
But I will add something that is uniquely me, because I am the only person who can. I’m deep into this last first in this year of firsts since my mom passed away last February 3. Monday marks the first last with her first yahrzeit. I can’t think of anything that has unfolded in the last couple of weeks without remembering that she did not want to be here for it. Remembrance comes with a fresh wave of grief for everything—including the fact that my young men come of age as marked men.
This morning as I poured myself coffee, I noticed a heart emerging from the foam. And I find myself remembering a passage from Maxine Hong Kingston’sThe Woman Warrior, where Fa Mu Lan takes her father’s place in battle. My mom was the prayer warrior.
Right now, I am doing everything I know how to do, but she is reminding me there is more I can do.
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