It is certainly too big and too heavy for my suitcase, but there was no way that I wasn’t going to bring it from France. 

They watched eagerly as I opened the Christmas present. A beautiful sketchbook. Watching my face react, certain they had gotten it right, sure that they knew me, they asked if I would bring it with me to the US. When you are offered love, the only answer is yes. 

I don’t expect to see her in France, my mom. She was never there. But here, in all of our sacred spaces, from mall to museum, coffee shops to cuisine, I look around every corner of Minneapolis. I touch the blouse that she would have tried on. Pick up the candle in our shared signature fragrance. Think to double the coffee order. And a smile weighs at my heart. Is it heavy? Indeed. But it is not a burden. It is the weight of love. A joyful weight. One that I will carry forever. Without question. 

I begin to fill it. I start by sketching a weightless bird with the French pencil I bought at the Minneapolis Institute of Art. Each feather answers yes and I proudly carry it with me, all of this love.