I can never see a foggy kitchen window – the kind that’s created on a rainy west coast night, draining boiled pasta or veggies into the sink – without thinking of you, mum. Of how it felt to come home from basketball practice or the dress rehearsal at school, in the dark, in the winter, in the rain, to the warmth and light of our kitchen, to you standing there, preparing to nourish us all. And always, the big hug when I walked through the door. I miss you. Every day.