Lost, Never Forgotten

Today, it’s been two years since my mother died in a hospital bed next to me. We were alone and I held her hand when she left. I find comfort in that I repeatedly told her how much I loved her and how blessed I was to be her son.

To share the last moments in somebody’s life is perhaps the most important thing you can do to a loved one. In those hours everything else becomes meaningless.

I don’t know if there’s an afterlife. I think not. But regardless, my mother lives on in me. She won’t be gone until I am.

I took this photo of her in New York’s Battery Park on a freezing cold day in 2015. Hence, the earmuffs.