9 May 2014--
Today, a dismal Istanbul Friday, gray, raining, cold, two days before Mother’s Day, and I think of my mother, gone three years. What can one do when there is no longer a mother? I mean, I was born the day before Mothers' Day. And every eleven years or so the days converge. So it will be two days hence.
My mother died three years ago. Of course, I spoke for her at the funeral. But my words were weak and distracted, eulogizing words. It wasn’t how I wanted to say goodbye, not at all. In fact, I had written something entirely different for her back then, an obituary, perhaps, I don’t know. But today, in the middle of my damp, drizzly thinking, my mind again came upon her. And I remembered what I had written about her then and didn’t say aloud. Now I will, below. And in two days Margaret and I will once again have a fleeting convergence of my birthday and Mothers' Day as this world keeps turning. JR