On grief

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been 70, but instead she is frozen in time, forever 65 as the rest of the world and I continue to age.

People may die, but grief does not. It comes at you in the most unexpected moments... Looking at your child and wishing for the 400th time that she could meet her. Driving down the road and flashing back to a fond memory. Remembering on mother's day to not remember to call her. Sitting down on a quiet afternoon and seeing her chair. Thoughts of her just bubble up, as do the tears, fresh as that crisp beautiful morning when I woke up motherless for the first time four years ago. Maybe the ache grows more dull with time. I can't tell yet. It's still there, cutting my heart when I am just going about my life, though perhaps less frequently with each passing year. But love doesn't die either, and impossibly seems to keep growing in the midst of loss.

My wise father suggested when she died to not mark that day; to choose another day to celebrate her life rather than to observe the day it slipped away. This was the first year I could allow that day to pass me by. Instead, today I spent a quiet day at home with my own girl, doing my best to follow my mother's example of kindness, patience, and gentle firmness.

Here's to you, Mom. Happy birthday.