Beyond sobs and scares

Days prior to returning to Montreal this August, I visited my father’s grave for the first time in nearly a decade, 17 years after he died. As a child in visits past, I had trudged along with my mother and sister, longing to return to the car. This time, though, I looked forward to going on my own. I had reached year three of flying back and forth from Kansas to Quebec—back and forth from two starkly different lifestyles and friend groups—in four-month intervals. With graduation quietly approaching, my life was moving more quickly than ever. Crossing into Missouri on my way to Mount Moriah Cemetery, I was looking to take a step back and reset.