That summer, after Mom died, Dad won tickets to the Bristol Renaissance Faire

That summer, after Mom died, Dad won tickets to the Bristol Renaissance Faire at the school auction. Me, Dad, and Helen went.

It was exactly the kind of thing Mom would have loved.

Actors in elaborate costumes, falconers, glassblowers, music, color, spectacle — the kind of half-historical carnival that blurs time and place. She would have walked slowly through every booth, touched the handmade wares, talked to every artisan.

Instead, it was just the three of us.

There was a strangeness to that day — like walking through a world she should have been in, but wasn’t. Grief has a way of hollowing out joy. The faire was loud and bright, but there was a ghost in every corner for me.

And yet: we had a good time. Helen and I were enthralled. Dad laughed. We ate faire food and watched sword shows and admired costumes.

That’s what grief is, I think: holding joy and absence in the same hand.