Another one of the "days" is upon me. Mom would have been 69 today, she died just two months shy of her 68th birthday. I have mixed feelings about these days, the milestones, the anniversary, holidays, the days you cannot go un-reminded of her absence. Of course I'm already thinking of her every hour of every day, but you get the idea. These are the days that my dad and siblings will actually go through with their best intentions of calling and dial me up to see how I'm doing, and I'll do the same for them. They're the days that my sons and DH will recognize, "Mommy's sad" and struggle clumsily with how to handle me in such mood. But, as mentioned, they are the days that bring on those waves of grief. Sweet, comforting sadness swells upon me and her absence is absurdly more obvious. The ache of all things I miss about who she was and how she did or did not mother me are at the forefront of every thought, behind every response to every conversation.
