In Memoriam: Where my mother rests today she needs no frothy memorials, flowers, or sentiment. She is beyond those, and sleeps in peace. Should this age miraculously go on for a few more centuries, she’ll be a mere box in a genealogy tree, with her children chronicled in boxes below her name. Her life has returned to the clay she was formed of, and I’ll not see her until I too awaken from my slumber. The time to honor her has passed. The time to cease mourning her passing has yet to come, and there is no poetic verse or bouquet for that. Time marches relentlessly on to its own doom, and I’ll not miss it when it ceases.