The Time We Have Left
Sitting on a period white counter across from the table where I work everyday is a photograph of my mother-in-law with her luminous smile and sweet, gentle eyes. There, my husband tells me, she was with her husband on their honeymoon in New Orleans in 1952. They had six children before deciding to go on separate paths. The concept of time always strikes me as something incomprehensible. “Oh, I feel like my life just happened,” she relayed to me on more than one instance. Today, after her passing, I want to say how grateful I am to her for having found my soul mate and for never taking for granted the remaining time we have left.