Three years

Yesterday marked three years since my mother's death. It was just another day. I woke up late, snuggled with the baby, worked around the house, did some work projects, visited a friend, shoveled some snow, and attended a rehearsal. All without a tear shed, but with her always at the back of my mind.

Grief doesn't really ever go away. It just goes deeper. It now feels normal that we don't talk every day. I no longer pick up my phone absentmindedly to call her. I don't cry every day or even many days. I don't even necessarily think about her actively every day.

But she is still marked as a favorite on my phone (I could never bear to remove her). Sometimes I look at Luciana and see her. I remember how she encouraged me when I was about to get married. I reflect on how she supported me equally as a violinist and as not-a-violinist during a dark time. I think about her last days as I watch my friend go through those same last days with a parent. I feel those familiar pangs of loss when I hear of others losing their moms. I get sad when I think about how Luci has very little family to love her, especially since my mom was so good at loving. I grieve when I think about how she'll never get to hold Luci, to know her. She's always somehow on my mind.

During my pregnancy I thought a lot about my mom. My pregnancy was a hard time for me, physically and emotionally. There was a particular day where I was really missing her. I couldn't sleep. I cried all night. I wanted to talk to her. I was mad she wasn't available to me. I needed her. I felt lost.

Then I realized what a gift it was to have been loved so well as to have such a void in my life. I felt peace. And it struck me that it was now my turn to love a child so much that they will sometimes feel completely lost without me when I'm gone.

So here's to my mom: let me be half as good as you were.