I was digging around on a shelf (looking for a book—I’m always looking for a book) and I knocked over a little piece of pottery that (surprise!) was filled with fortunes from fortune cookies.
All these fortunes are from a five-year period—a time when my mother was alive and living here in Minnesota. Every Wednesday, the two of us went to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. We shared an order of eggs rolls and pork-fried rice.
We argued.
We laughed.
And at the meal’s end, we cracked the shell of the cookies and pulled the fortunes out and studied them.
Now I hold these fortunes in my hand, and they all seem to say the same thing:

You will miss your mother.
You will miss your mother.
You will miss your mother.

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