Ever turn to your pets for comfort? *Raising my hand*. It’s funny how Hannah and Sam behave differently when I’m sad. Hannah, who’s gotten into the habit of whining insistently for me to pet her every minute I am home, instead sits quietly next to me, calm and purring. Every so often, she turns her cheek and wipes the tears from my wrist. Sam sits in the doorway like a guard, looking on, until I quit the tissue box. Then he starts meowing and goofing off to make me laugh.
It’s Labor Day. Two years ago, my mother died on Labor Day, though that year the holiday fell on September 5, so I’m uncertain whether or not to mark the anniversary today or later this week on this year’s 9/5. It’s all still a blur to me. Perhaps next year I’ll feel differently.
We must remember where we’ve been to appreciate where we are now, to look forward to where we are going. I’d like to re-post this blog’s story from that day, in remembrance. Much has changed since my mother’s passing. For one thing, Hannah, Sam and I no longer live in the garret (thank heavens!). Good neighbors and friends abound. Today, I am not standing in an ICU in a hospital in New York, holding my mother’s hand, watching her go. I am in Harvard Square, writing this post, finishing up a book manuscript, preparing for a new teaching semester.
Today, we may mark the end of summer, but I feel the beginning of something new and affirming. Despite today’s rain, hope is in the air.
Writer’s Note: My essay, “Why We Write: A Topic Too Risky,” about writing on trauma, appears in the September/October issue of Poets & Writers Magazine. The piece is only available in print, but you can find an online snippet here.