One Year

 Where there is deep grief, there was great love.

On the anniversary of my mom's death, naturally, I had to be with my dad. I went to visit him and it was really nice to spend some quiet time together. We sat and talked for long periods, cooked dinner together, ate at several restaurants that my mom enjoyed, watched a pretty bad movie, went to Mass and to visit her grave, and met up with a friend of his for hot chocolate. We planned to go for a hike as well, but ran out of time, so instead we visited a Civil War site that was interesting and well maintained. We'll save the hike for my next visit.

I'm not eloquent enough to put the enormity of my feelings into words. But I think of my mom a hundred times a day. I hardly ever talk about her, not because I don't miss her terribly or feel her absence keenly, but because it's impossible to keep my composure. I think she would be happy if she saw how we were doing: the grandkids are happy and healthy; we all continue to stay close and spend a lot of time together; my dad is active and social, and visits us often. I feel her presence around me all the time, because she's such a part of who I am. We were so blessed to have had her.