Of all the days on the calendar, your birthday still arrives like a tsunami wave I cannot stop. So, I duck dive. I surrender. And somehow, I survive. Tomorrow, the world will call it another day, but my heart will whisper..."it's Mom's birthday". You would be 72 years young. And suddenly remembering this makes me feel homesick again. Not for a place, not for a house with familiar walls, but for you. Homesick for your voice calling my name from another room. "Lucy" or "Lucy de

*Bold phrases are in Spanish. Translations can be found below. I sit and write because I’m ambushed by grief, yet deeply filled with love. Holiday traditions remind me of the structure you built for us. We try so hard to keep it going, but it’s just not the same, Mom. The doors rip off the hinges to grief, and they never seem to close. One gust of wind—one memory— and I'm back where it all began and ended: At Kaiser, watching you take your last breaths. I brought you in on a

Nearly four years have passed Since you left this world so vast But time does not erase the ache, Nor soften how my heart still breaks. Yet in the quiet, I feel your grace— A strength in me that knows its place. Your laughter echoes in my soul, Your wisdom keeps my spirit whole. This Day of the Dead, I call your name, With marigolds and candle flame. I build you an altar, tender and true, With all the things that speak of you. Your favorite foods, your cherished song, The sce