Ten months after my sister’s death, I can laugh and smile. I can sometimes care about other people’s problems. I can’t listen to voicemails or write thank you notes or stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I was badly injured in the accident that killed my mother. Never was I more at peace with her death than in those six months between the funeral and when I started walking again.
I shared our pregnancy news early — asserting that I wanted my community with me in joy, but also in potential sorrow. Now that I had miscarried, there were so many calls to make.
My late mother was an avid fan of the Peruvian national soccer team. This year “la Blanquirroja” is playing in its first World Cup in more than three decades. As I cheer them on, it’s impossible not to feel sadness and longing.