The Clan

The front row are the McGs, while the back row are D & A (married to A & C, covering all first four letters of your A-B-Cs); we met 11 years ago at a mutual friend’s wedding, and Maxi (the one to my right) opened with “My name is Max. I’m dying.” He has cystic fibrosis and we can’t get rid of the dope (one of my favourite dopes).

Tonight was a fundraiser for CF, and I’ll support any and all fundraisers to which the McG name is attached. Always have, and will continue to always do so inshAllah. If you don’t know enough about CF, do take a peek over at CysticFibrosis(dot)ca, please and thank you.

Maria is their mom; she also wrote poetry. Of all of the mother I know, she was the first to leave this world. One thing the McG’s don’t know is that I look for, and see her in faces around me. There have been a few occasions when I have had to pull myself back from going to hug her hello, because I have to remind myself that it isn’t her.

Always, the women are in glasses and have salt and pepper hair with bangs. Always, they are smiling, because that is how I remember her. Warm, kind, always smiling. I think that even if she hadn’t been the first of our mothers to leave, I would still see her in warm faces.

When I hugged Mr. McG, I probably held on a little tighter than a normal person, because I missed her presence in that moment. As I imagine the rest of this clan does on the daily.

Today, I am grateful for:
1. Mommas. Especially those of you who poured all of your love into our little baby hearts.
2. Everyone who spoke to a stranger (me) today to tell me you liked my The Good Immigrant sweater. Thank you.
3. Remembering my dreams. You have always been such a guide, forgive me when I have (in the past) ignored your warnings.

Ottawa | Day 348 | November 13, 2019

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