A fog settled, creating a warm cloud that provided distance between me and everyone else. It swirled around, day after day, allowing me to disconnect from those who surrounded me. From life.
As Shiva ended those who kept me fed and clean began disappearing into the fog. By the end of Shloshim, only my mother remained.
On the last morning, she brought me a photograph from our last family trip.
“You remember this?”
“Of course, Mom.”
“It took a long time for the sun to reach The Taj that day.”
“Yes.”
“In time, the sun will reach you again, too.”
The Mom Who Runs: 