Tuesday was my mother’s yahrzeit. She’s been gone twenty-six years already, though it seems like yesterday in many ways. I still miss her, every day. I lit the yahrzeit candle in her memory, as I do every year on the anniversary of her passing. Its flame gives me comfort. It’s almost as if she were still with me, just for the twenty-four hours or so while the flame flickers and burns and the wax melts in the little glass. I think about her, and wonder if she’s safe, if she’s at peace, if she and my Dad are together up there in Heaven. If they’re together with our grandson Dillon, who left us way too soon, at the age of 28. Are they watching out for him? Are they letting him know he’s still very much loved? And missed? And will never be forgotten? I hope so. I think so.

While the candle burns, I take comfort in my mother’s presence. I talk to her. I wrap my hands around the glass, feeling the warmth of the flame. I’m grateful to have the chance to be with her again, if only just for a little while. But then the wax is completely melted and the flame dies. And Mom is gone. All over again.

We say ‘may her memory be for a blessing.’ Yes, her memory is a blessing. Also a loss. A loss that doesn’t really get better as the years pass. May she rest in peace and love. She deserves the best.

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