“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

The afternoon sun beat down as if mocking the gray sky that blanketed my heart. It had only been 2 hours. I had just left Oakidge Cemetery, where the cold body of my mother, Mrs. Eleanor Vance, my only family, had become one with the damp reddish earth. The scent of chrysanthemums and the smell of wet soil seemed to linger in my nostrils, mixing with the salty taste of dried tears on my cheeks. I got out of the car with heavy steps as if I were wearing shackles on my ankles. All I wanted was to go to my room, lock the door, and hug the pillow she had left me so I could release the rest of the tears that constricted my chest.