“In the days following my mother’s passing, a celebration of her life took away some of the stinging hurt and confusion I felt. People gathered at her best friend’s house with flowers, hugs, and stories. They all looked at me with compassion and sadness. Being older, nobody thought my father would out-live her. She was 56 and he, 70. The celebration of my mother’s life, really, was for his benefit, to ease his pain. It was my first memorial.

Twelve days later, at 5 o’clock in the morning, the phone shattered the quiet at the cabin. My brother was on the other end.

“You’d better come down to Seattle, get on the next ferry, Harry has died.” I heard his words, but it was shocking, I was in disbelief.

“He fell in the night, He had a heart attack.”

(Painting and essay by Annie Howell-Adams)