It’s the 6th day of March and I’m feeling as gray
as the sky outside my window. I’m sitting in my office and it’s hard to keep
pretending like this is any other day. Especially with the rain tapping on the
glass pane. Tapping and tapping a refrain of dreariness that won’t let me
forget that my mother died two years ago today. One year ago, I gathered with
my family at the columbarium where my mother’s ashes are resting in a nook that
has her name engraved on its covering. We took comfort in the company of each
other on that day, acknowledging that this was not an ordinary day. Ashes to
ashes is the cycle of this temporal existence. And so, as all things pass, so
too must this day. This day will pass. This day will die and take its
gloominess with it. I welcome the birth of tomorrow, because it will not be
remarkable in any way. The sun may rise to more gray skies, but it will
rise. I will let myself mourn the loss
of my mother today. But tomorrow I will do what Mom would have done. I will
show up. Mom showed up for every single day she had on this earth. She squeezed
every bit of happiness she could out of each minute she was granted. She would
want nothing less for any of us.
Today I miss my Mom’s voice, her hugs, and her relentless
nature. I can feel the energy she left in her wake carrying me into the dawn
that is the life ahead of me. I remain the beneficiary of her relentless nature
that never allows me give up or lose hope. Tomorrow I will remember that I can
still hear her words inside my head. I still know her voice and what she would
be telling me. She would say, “It’s a new day out, go and enjoy it.”
