It gets closer and closer every day.

The anniversary of my mother’s death.

On May 4th, a Monday, my mother will have been gone for a year.

On the one hand, a year?  An entire year?

On the other hand, it’s only been a year?  It feels like dozens, hundreds, even thousands of years of grief and worry.

I miss her.  I’m still angry.  I’m still hurt.  I’m still upset.  I am, as a friend told me last night, in a recovery from a trauma, and it’s no wonder that I am in so much pain.

I thought it would be better by now.

I did.

It’s not.

It’s just… familiar.


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