Their Bad Mother

margaret falls
My daughter, at the site where we held my father’s memorial, watching the water fall down down down. Me, watching her, feeling the spray of the water against my cheek, feeling grateful to have this place – this cathedral of water and rock and trees, open to the sky – in which to commune with Dad. The one moment during which my heart felt at peace. A moment that I revisit, over and over and over again.

(This post is part of the Best Of 2009 blog challenge issued by the lovely Gwen Bell. Today’s challenge: recall a moment of peace. So few of these, when one has small children, and when one is struggling with grief, but still: the above was mine.)

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