A year and a day

As most of you know, my mom died a year ago yesterday. Isn't supposed to get easier after a year? Am I supposed to be past the mourning stage by now? Here in Colorado, we've been enjoying a long stretch of spring-like weather -- and lots of sunshine. But yesterday was cold and gloomy, which seemed to be a fitting complement to how I felt. I'm 41 years old and all I could think was, "I want my mommy." It's kind of pathetic, so feel free to stop reading here.

I moved out of my parents' house when I was 20 and moved away from my hometown nine years ago, so I didn't see my mom daily or even monthly. But we talked nearly every Sunday. I would tell her about my week, my ups and downs and the latest developments at work and in my (often rocky) love life. She would tell me about the nieces and nephews and what my brothers had been up to. I always made sure to tell her about things I knew she would find exciting -- we went skiing, there was a fox in our front yard -- as well as the mundane, day-to-day occurrences. It was my Sunday ritual, and I miss it very much.

A few weeks ago, the S.O. and I went to see the Velvet Hills Chorus on a Saturday evening because our neighbor is a member, and it got us out of the house. The barbershop harmony isn't exactly our cup of tea, but as I watched, I kept thinking how much Mom would have loved it. I could hear her saying how neat it was and how she wished she had the guts to get up on stage and sing. It was something I would have told her all about the next day. So, even though it wasn't exactly my thing, I enjoyed it for Mom.

Looking through some pictures yesterday, I came across one of Mom as a young girl. I'm guessing she's somewhere around 7 or 8 years old. She looks happy. And sassy.


I miss her.