|My brother, Mother and I circa 1980.|
However, in the middle of all that, I still had a moment this afternoon when I noted the time, my place in the world and had the one thought that comes over me every year on August 29th:
This is the day that my mother died.
Each year the day seems to sneak up on me more than the last. It isn't marked in red on the calendar and dreaded for weeks as it once was. But it still has some power, this day. After 13 years, it still is enough to make me pause and reflect, even if it's just for a moment in a hectic day or for a blog post at the end of it.
I miss my mom. This is not unique to anyone who has lost their mom. Or any parent, family, friend or loved one who meant a lot to them. I know this.
But I think back to 13 years ago. Not on this day, but on one of the many good days before it that we talked. I don't think either of us had any clue that I would end up in Los Angeles, having the time of my life, with the love of my life. But I know that she'd be happy for me.
And on this day or any day, I know that's enough.