Yasmin, I remember driving you to your part-time job at Albertson’s on Mercer Island. I knew of your story, which is to say I knew what I had been told by others at the agency. I think I asked you how you were doing on the way to the store. I’m sure you said, “fine”, like any other adoptee whose rivulets of pain flow deep and gather in dark pools; all you could do was float in temporary suspension until something else in your life led you down another fateful decision. They said that your adoptive parents had had enough and that they finally decided that your adoptive father would fly you back to your orphanage in Kolkota, India. But you came back to the U.S. You returned, despite the best laid plans. Yasmin, only you knew where you went, where you belonged, where you would end up. Your passing is just that: you’re past the pain; you’re past the recriminations; you’ve simply passed into each of our thoughts to rest your weary soul. And we’ll keep you safe. You’re safe now.
About Kev Minh