In another life, the one she dreamed was still hers, she would be here to look through the beautiful cooking magazine that came in the mail with her name on it. She would look through the luscious pictures as I did, but she would choose something, an appetizer, a side dish, a dessert, use math to perfect the recipe (something I would never do), adding this, removing that, a little more, a little less, til she was satisfied, serving us all something delicious. I have memories of her in the kitchen, music on, wearing one of her aprons, dancing, singing, sometimes a spoon in her hand, sometimes Lily by her side in her own apron (a smaller version of her mother, though now she’s a teenager without a mother), both of them smiling and laughing, and having so much fun. The kitchen was her home, her joy. In another life, she would be cooking and baking still, joyful and growing older, with us much longer than her 46 years.