My mom died 12 years ago, today. It seems like an eternity ago. It seems like it was yesterday. I read in a book somewhere that people who have not lost anyone close to them view grief like quitting smoking - it gets easier with each passing day and you miss it less and less. The author disagreed with this comparison and said it was more like doing without water - you noticed its absence more with each passing day. I am somewhere in the middle. My mom's death does not occupy every waking thought anymore, but occasionally something will spark the memory and the gaping wound is ripped open again with its ragged edges of hurt and disappointment. I have no doubt that God did exactly as he saw fit and I try to trust His will. Really I do. But, it still hurts, the questions remain unanswered. Every year about this time I get in the most foul mood. I never understand why until I remember the dreaded anniversary and my mood makes sense.
I wish I could be more like her. I am glad we are different. She was awesome. Man she could be difficult. She was really an enigma, perplexing and complex, hard to understand. But, she did something right. We stood for hours while people shuffled by her casket paying their last respects. At one point, the line wrapped around the building I'm told. In her shy, backwards way - contrary to her nature, she reached out to people. I need to figure out how she did that.