Sources say that paper is the traditional gift for
the first anniversary of your wedding, a symbol
both fragile and enduring, just like the early years.
I’ve searched but can’t find anything that indicates
what gift should mark the first anniversary of your
father’s death, this day a year ago when all the light
bled out of the world. The light returned, gradually
most days yet strangely sure. But my father did not.
I’ve decided to purchase a candle from an old boutique
on Taylor Street to mark this day, a gift to symbolize
the resurrection of the light, and one day my father’s.
The fragrance I’ve chosen is the one the founders first
created in the back room of their shop—bitter orange.
I’ve chosen this so the light will be burdened with the
fragile and enduring scent of the terrible and the beautiful.