By Rebecca Soffer
Ten years ago, my mom and I met for brunch in Princeton, New Jersey (halfway between New York City and Philadelphia, our respective homes). It was her first Mother’s Day without her own mom, who had died two months prior after a massive stroke.
Over Bloody Marys and avocado omelettes she told me – for the first time – that she’d been struggling with the loss. “I know it sounds ridiculous,” she said (given that she was 63 years old when she said it), “but a mommy...
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