Today is a day that we stop to remember those who have fallen. Or at least theoretically anyway. Most people just see it as a day off work that conveniently marks the official beginning of summer.

For me, this truly was a day of remembrance. Mostly I remembered my grandmother Baba, who breathed her last breath at 1 AM on Saturday night. As I said last week on her birthday, she was an incredible woman, and a best friend to me during a childhood spent living in the country with my nose in a book. She helped raise me and shape me, and losing her is more like losing a parent than a grandparent.

However, for a truly elegant and fitting obituary for Baba, I’ll leave it to the pro in the family.


Today was also the anniversary of two previous deaths, ones which came as tragic, unexpected blows to two of the most important people in my life. Unlike my recent loss, these people did not get to say goodbye to their respective loved ones. They did not make deathbed promises about gardens, weddings, and button boxes. And what’s worse, they do not grieve with the knowledge that their loved ones had led a long, fulfilling life, complete with seven grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Their losses were instantaneous, inexplicable, and needless, and the ones they lost too young to go.

So there are memorials, and then there are memorials. Today I grieve not only for my own loss, but also for those close to me who have suffered their own.

It also did happen to be a day off, and it did mark the advent of summer. But quite frankly, whether it was due to the fog in the sky or that in my head, I didn’t really notice.