Sunday, August 16, 2015


21 year ago today.  That seems impossible.  But it has been 21 years since my world was rocked and my soul shaken by the sudden, unexpected, traumatic death of my mother.

21 years later and I know she would be proud of me.  She'd be happy with the life I've built and who I've become.  She'd be grateful for those who stepped into the unfillable void - teachers, friends, family - and guided me through the lowest and most difficult time of my life, when I sometimes wasn't sure I wanted to keep going.

Her death tore my life and my family apart.  21 years later, I still think of her every day.  Sometimes it's happy thoughts (I still picture her laughing her memorable laugh and see those fillings in her teeth); sometimes they're bittersweet (I haven't managed to recall the sound of that laugh for years, except when its echo comes out of my own mouth); and sometimes they are full of stinging grief (how did my mother parent through particular phase? How sad for my children that they will never meet her.).

21 years.  My grief can legally drink now.

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