One Half of My Time (2004)
MAJOR COMMEMORATIVE events tend to coincide with anniversaries marked by round or supposedly significant numbers: twenty-five, fifty, or a hundred years. But in our personal lives, we each have our own way of calculating these things, and I have just realized that the morning of December 24, just gone, marked twenty-six years since the death of my mother. The reason this figure made me stop in my tracks and summon up memories, some of which I will set down here (and I apologize beforehand for writing on so personal a subject, but I’m sure these memories will, in some way, chime with many readers), is
