It takes a year, and then some

In two-ish hours (around 3 a.m.), it'll be 1 year since my mother died. Today is also the beginning of Holy Week, and I expect it will be a more emotional seven days than other Paschal weeks have been. I'm doing OK tonight, though over the last two, I experienced a resurgence in the insomnia I suffered last year, and I found myself weepier and touchier than normal. I don't plan a special memorial for tomorrow. I've been remembering my mother all year long. I'll go to Palm Sunday service, where I'll light a candle for her as I do each Sunday I'm in church, and then I'll go see my nearly-100-year-old friend, Betty. And then I'll go home for a while. I may go to the gym, as I usually do on Sunday evenings. Somehow it seems as though living well and happily this day would be the best way to honor my mother, who worked so hard to get me born, grown and launched, and who was my friend. And so at least right now, this significant day is sitting mostly peaceably with me. Yes, I'm up writing at 1 a.m. instead of sleeping, but at least I'm not sobbing as I type. The next impending holiday, Mother's Day, does bother me, though. Last year I barely noticed Mother's Day, because I was so engulfed in grief. But this year, I inwardly flinch at every ad that begins "Get Mom a..." or "Mom will LOVE this...". It's the same when "Dads and Grads" ads start popping up in June--and it's been eight years since my dad died, so I suppose I can't expect to be inured. The sharpness of grief has left me, and I have regained my balance. What remains is a deep longing to talk with both of my parents. I wish I could dream of them, but it doesn't happen. So all I have is photos. Now and again I'll get one out and stare at it, and imagine their voices, their laughter, the way they moved as they spoke. And sometimes, a little, that helps.