Today would have been the 93rd birthday of my mother. It is just another in a series of “firsts”—the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, the first New Year, the first Valentine’s Day, the first Mother’s Day—spent without her since her death last September 23.She is gone now, and yet she remains an indelible presence for each member of my family.
One thing I have learned, despite the chasm of light, energy, and purpose that gaped before me in the immediate aftermath of her death, as well as the dull ache that remains with me to this day: Death may end a life, but not love.
And so, I swear that I can still hear her soft, sweet voice even now, speaking to my heart…
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