Deep Thoughts

My mother died in the month of March in the year 2006. Her name was Sharon Kalb-Komarin. It’s still impossible to believe. I was twenty-five and she was fifty. She had ovarian cancer and was diagnosed only six months before her death with what was already an advanced and aggressive case. It came out of absolutely nowhere. It tore her body and soul apart. It ripped every shred of herself to bits. Her death was, and still is, an absolute tragedy to me and my family.

Many things have transpired in the seventeen years since she passed away. Too many things to list. But the two most important things are the births of my children. For many years, I struggled with infertility. I was terrified that motherhood would never happen for me. And if it didn’t–or couldn’t–what would I do? How could I go on being both motherless and childless? That concept was too much for me to bear.

I am infinitely lucky and profoundly grateful that with the help of science, my husband and I are now parents to two beautiful and amazing daughters. What pains me to no end, is that they will never know their grandmother, Grandma Sharon, and that she will never know them. It’s a shocking reality I have to grapple with every day.

I have endless more to say about her–what made her such an incredible nurturer, how her instincts for early childhood shaped me as a person, what a brave and selfless person she was, and all that she hoped and dreamed to be before her life was cut so, so short.

It will take me time to process all of these things as I write, but it’s something I want to do.

For now, this is just the beginning.