“If my mother's soul had already vacated her body, I am certain now that it had not yet left the room. I didn’t believe in souls and spirits in those days, but in revisiting that scene as I write this, I know that the limp hand I held was somehow also holding mine…”

My mother, who died thirty-nine years ago tomorrow, would never have understood this journey I’m on, nor much of the life I have lived since her passing. She would have worried incessantly for my well-being, as mothers do, yet she would never have tried to persuade me to change course.