Tomorrow is the First Anniversary of My Mother’s Death
Even though it has been a year, I cannot help but mark everything she is missing.
Tomorrow is my mother’s yahrtzeit. That means it is the anniversary of her death. It is her first anniversary. Or mine Or ours. The first year of my life without my mother. I have a Zoom call set up with family in Pennsylvania and Canada and Florida. My own children will join from separate road trips up the California coast. My husband is coming home early from work. My youngest will sit beside me. My mom will be honored and remembered and celebrated. And she will miss it all.
In the last several months: My son graduated from high school. My daughter turned twenty-one. My youngest turned sixteen and started driving. I started grief counseling. My son got mysteriously ill and then mostly better, but not 100 percent. My family and I got double vaccinated. The pandemic restrictions loosened. I went to New York with my husband. I went to Mexico with my husband and the kids. My older two left on road trips with friends. I turned in a book proposal. I hired a cabinet maker to design and build a bar in the dining area with under-shelf lighting and a wine fridge. I started planting succulents and became obsessed. My mother missed it all.
