MARCH MEANS SOMETHING

March is the month of both of my parents’ death, while not the same year, of course. But I find that I haven’t committed to memory those dates, except to remember the month, and to bump into the dates by accident as I’m looking back over documents.   Yet their birth dates are etched into my brain, before I was around, when they were jumping into the world with both feet and a triumphant wail, and then all those countless moments we shared over our lifetimes. Those memories calm me in this time of great turmoil in our country and world and while I miss them, I feel gratitude that they are now free of any of these earthly concerns that keep us awake at night.

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