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“My mother died in 1986 after living with me for seven years. Since this was the first time I had lived alone, loneliness was a huge factor for a while. But gradually, I realized that those seven years were a blessing to me since we had learned to live together as roommates and friends.

Since it has been 31 years since her death, only pleasant memories remain. Only a little sadness now and then because I can’t call her on the phone. Right inside my pantry, I keep three things that belonged to my mother—a box of matches, a small container of toothpicks, and a box of straws. So every time I got into the pantry, I think of her.”


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