My Daughters’ Dad Is Dead, but a Long Car Ride, Like Much Else, Makes Me Think of Him

It was Passover and, like our ancestors before us, we were traveling. We would arrive at my mother’s apartment late on Friday night, in time to help with Saturday’s set up. My mother has her big family Seder on whichever Saturday night falls within the eight days of Passover. She started this not when she had school-age children and we had to wake up early for school the next day, but when she had school-age grandchildren who—with the new tradition—do not have to wake up early for school the next day. I got out of work later than I had hoped, so it was dark. Headlights were glaring into my middle-aged eyes. As soon as we got in the car, I was ready to be at my mother’s—to have her care for us in all the ways she does—including, undoubtedly, with leftovers from the meal we missed.

To pass the time, 13-year-old Maya suggested we listen to a RadioLab podcast called “Blood.” She and I have a symbiotic relationship around podcasts in the car. She, the digital native, can set up my phone so podcasts are played through the car’s speakers, and I, the digital immigrant, pay the phone bill and keep the car trudging. She read the description of “Blood,” and she and her 10-year-old sister agreed to listen to it. My eyes focused on the road, I agreed as well.

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From Tablet Magazine