Since my father’s funeral six months ago, I still call my mother almost every day. We live worlds apart, geographically and ideologically, but despite me being in Europe and she in the US, and despite our religious and political differences, we still manage to keep talking. After all, she’s my mom.
This year has not been easy, having lost my job, my father and what continues to feel like my country. I worked for USAID and believed in America’s capacity to help solve global problems while helping others in need, but the current administration ended such work, calling it wasteful. Two days after that, my father passed away, and as our family gathered to mourn, we received news that my mother’s cancer had returned and spread to her bones. Such news was devastating, but doctors offered hope. Though there was no cure, there was a pill available to stem the spread, sometimes even for many years.
