There's something so weird about days that have meanings. It seems like those are the days where you are constantly being confronted with the date, without even meaning to. Usually, they are nice little reminders - Oh, it's my brother's birthday today - Oh, it's my friend's wedding anniversary - and you feel warm and fuzzy about the people in your life who are so lovely. And then there are days like today. How every time I remind myself it's June 19th, my stomach twists and my eyes sting because I remember where I was a year ago.
I was sitting with my family eating lunch in the conference room we had taken over several times as a cafeteria. The hospice nurse silently got my attention, took me aside and said, "Honey, she's gone." I went back in, collected everyone and we made the wordless trek back to her room. One last trek.
A few weeks ago my mother-in-law asked if there was anything special I wanted to do to remember my mom. I thought for a few minutes. What else could I possibly do. I will do the thing that was her passion, the thing that she passed down to me (seemingly through her DNA), the thing that I wish we could do together still. I will sew.