one year

"Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds,

for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness."

James 1: 2-3

Words elude me.  Today marks the last of the firsts, and something I have wondered about…how it would feel.  The answer is not surprising:   sad, as her physical presence is getting further away.  I still want to hold onto it;  I worry that I will forget it.  There is the realization that today isn’t really the last of anything, but only the first of the seconds…and that things will always be delineated in this way now: the then and the now, the before and the after.  One year having passed really doesn’t change anything, or seem to provide any end.  Not that I thought it would. She is still missed terribly, and no matter how much time passes, I can’t see how this will ever change.

One of the many blessings this blog has given me is a continued connection and correspondence with my Mom’s friends.   Recently, this is what one of them sent to me (thank you, Sue), knowing the anniversary of her death was approaching.  She thought it would help, and on this day when there are really no words, it does.

You can shed tears that she is gone,
Or you can smile because she lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that she will come back.
Or you can open your eyes and see all that she has left.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see her,
Or you can be full of the love that she shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live for yesterday,
Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her and only that she is gone,
Or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back,
Or you can do what she would want…

Smile, open your eyes, love, and go on.

And so we do.

With her lasting memory deep within our hearts, every minute of every day.  

Thankfully, in this, there is peace.

This is a portrait of my Mom that was sewn (yes…sewn) by my good friend, Dave (thank you). It sits on a shelf in my kitchen.  Every night at dusk the flame-less candle (that my Mom gave me) comes on, illuminating her spirit… and replenishing mine.