I was awed by my daughters’ poise last weekend, both at the memorial and the “day after” brunch.

The Winter of Grief hit hard for Alison on Monday; for Jeanette, Friday night. Fortunately, like cars simultaneously arriving at a four-way stop, we’ve edged out and then taken turns losing it. Maybe not the best analogy because it hasn’t been that intentional; fortunately, it’s just the way it’s worked.

Similarly, while I have things I could communicate about my first quite lonely, quiet week post memorial, they seem less weighty than this paragraph from Jeanette’s most recent Substack. So without knowing it, it’s her turn.

“Mom’s memorial weekend was hard and surreal, and also beautiful, honoring, and full of loved ones; those who came to be with and support us, as well as those who sent their love from afar. I spent the reception looking for mom in the crowd, wanting to walk over and rest my head on her shoulder, get a hug, or simply stand by her side. I just wanted to stand beside her, listen to her wrap up her conversation before leaving with her by my side. When I was by her side, I knew I always belonged, I was always wanted. I came into this world by her side, cozy and comfortable in her womb for two weeks past my due date. I was born from her body, I fed from her as an infant, I grew up under the caring watch of her loving and attentive eye. Being by her side is the most natural environment I have ever existed in. I miss her every day. The longer it’s been, the more surreal it feels, the more I think, ‘it’s been long enough, she should be coming back now’. And she doesn’t.”