My mom died nine years ago today. It was one of those D'oh moments. I've got so much on my plate this week that I wasn't really tuned in to this anniversary. Yet my body and unconscious knows. The grumpiness I think is their way to clue me in so that I can stop and remember my mom.
Because she is well worth remembering. The laughter. The deep conversations. The silly moments. The vacations. The scrumptious holiday meals. The phone calls when I was living on my own and anything broke. She always had a reassuring word, ideas for how to move forward, words to encourage and challenge me.
Nine years later I still miss her. It's not a constant ache like it was in those first days, weeks, and months. And in many ways, she feels more present to me than she was ever able to be across the miles. I know that she is loving us from where she is now, keeping an eye on us, cheering us on and nudging us whenever she can. My mom dreamed of a world where compassionate love ruled the day, where there as enough for everyone and always more to give. Now it's up to us to continue living into that dream.
So even though I do not wish to repeat this grumpy day, in a way I'm grateful to my grumpy self for causing me to stop and remember this wonderful woman I called Mom.