“What made you think of her?”

He asked me, “What made you think of her?”

I paused as I tried to pinpoint the memory that pushed me over the edge, from teary-eyed to sobbing. Only, there was no standalone memory. It was the way she was embedded in my whole being. The way I visualized her in every mundane, joyful or stressful moment throughout my day - laying on the bed and giggling with the girls, sitting across from me at the dinner table as she meticulously scooped her daal with her spoon. It’s the way that I carefully wash and prepare the rice to provide dinner for my family. It’s the way I take a deep sigh when I consider my mental load, the longing to hear her calm voice when I’m overwhelmed, or even a lady with white hair and a puffer coat at the grocery store. It’s my reflection in the mirror, her shadow in my movements, her echo in my voice.

I take a deep breath and respond, “Just everything.” Her almost palpable embrace brings another tear down my cheek.