River Sing Me Home

by Eleanor Shearer

“We all got our gifts—the things we see that others can’t. All we can do is use them when the time come.”

So there was something about the passing of a parent. A cosmic weight that shifted onto the generation below. A child could leave the world without a whisper, but a parent’s death made itself known.

And yet, love did not wait. Love was there in the beginning—even before the beginning. Love needed no words, no introduction. Existence was enough.