tongue tied

reflections on grief, learning your mother's tongue, and belonging: by Makda Mehari

*a note from my mother to my father* *Translation: Hi honey, I prepared dinner. If I don’t get home early, please eat. Don’t wait for me. And don’t forget the salad. Love you!

It feels like I’m grieving all the time.

I suppose grieving must be an essential part of living – not in the predestined sort of way, but rather as a result of the world we’ve buil…