Twenty-three years ago today, my Mother died of cancer. Just a few days ago, a character on TV asked another how she got over her mother’s death. “I didn’t,” she replied. I fought back tears. A few days before, in the movie, Millions, a mother returns from the dead to speak one last time with her youngest son. She explains that he is the miracle she brought into the world, a sentiment my Mother — like most mothers, I’d like to think — could have expressed to each of her children and grandchildren.

Grief is a crushing sorrow. I understand how it ruins so many lives and leads to suicide or revenge.

A few days ago, I pulled a box out of my closet and started working through the layers of paper that had accumulated. As I sorted through things, I wondered what had started this particular pile. Why have I been holding on to these things? The newspaper at the bottom was my answer: 7/3/07. The day Kitty died. Kitty was my friend for most of 20 years. Merri says Kitty was my daemon, in the sense of the Golden Compass.

Death is bad enough. But to suffer through the slow, painful death of someone you love is reason enough to doubt or curse god. It is the final reminder of Life’s utter indifference to all living things. mjh