It’s been three months since my mother died of pancreatic cancer. She would have turned 59 last week. I haven’t written much about her, yet—a brief memorial message for her social media accounts; a few heartfelt summations of some lessons and values she left me with on my own. It feels insufficient. Like a single quote etched into the space permitted by a headstone, the words barely scratch the surface of the full complexity of nearly six decades of a deeply meaningful human life.
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