Deep loss is a journey that involves living on with what we thought we could not. When I allowed myself (as though I had a choice) to feel that pain, which was at first unimaginable, I was taken to places I could not have conceived. With widened feelings and perspectives, my life opened.

So it’s a smaller surprise that these were the last words my mother spoke, after she died. She chose to deliver them in a vehicle she respected, the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. On the day of her funeral, her name, Blossom, was the clue for number 68 across.

The answer she shared with me, and that I found after I buried her, was: Open up.

Losing my mother and father in a three month period knocked any sense of equilibrium from me, sending me into a tailspin of tornado impact emotions. I was in territory beyond my ability to cope, even though I showed up, in full, for both of them. In crumbling and rebuilding, I found myself more careful, and more intentional. For some reason, this year, it is my mother’s story that comes to mind the day before Father’s Day.