Yizkor

So I ran late to 7th-and-last day of Pesach services at my synagogue on Monday. I am glad I made it. It was not the first time I had said Yizkor for my love, but it was the first time I felt no need to hide any part of my identity or hers in order to do so. I even refrained from breaking down during services, though I did cry when I returned to the relative safety of my apartment. Of all the occasions for Yizkor, Pesach tends to be the hardest for me. Perhaps because saying Yizkor for my love reminds me even more than does the Seder that redemption is not complete.