And After My Mother's Death I Became

I Think About My Mother Every Day. But Usually The Thoughts Are Fleeting - She Crosses My Mind Like A Spring Cardinal That Flies Past The Edge Of Your Eye: Startling, Luminous, Lovely... Gone.

I Wasn't Prepared For The Fact That Grief Is So Unpredictable. It Wasn't Just Sadness, And It Wasn't Linear. Somehow I'd Thought That The First Days Would Be The Worst And Then It Would Get Steadily Better - Like Getting Over The Flu. That's Not How It Was.

One Word I Had Throughout The First Year And A Half Of My Mother's Death Was 'unmoored.' I Felt That I Had No Anchor, That I Had No Home In The World.

Time Doesn’t Obey Our Commands. You Cannot Make It Holy Just Because It Is Disappearing.

Grief Is A Bad Moon, A Sleeper Wave. It's Like Having An Inner Combatant, A Saboteur Who, At The Slightest Change In The Sunlight, Or At The First Notes Of A Jingle For A Dog Food Commercial, Will Flick The Memory Switch, Bringing Tears To Your Eyes.