One Year Later

Today would have been my mother's 88th birthday, but she died exactly one year ago on her 87th.        Unlike my father, my mom lived to what most people would consider a ripe old age.   Even so, the passage of a year hasn't diminished that sense of loss.   A year doesn't seem that long ago, but somehow it makes memories of my own childhood seem much more remote.   I try to keep busy, but often feel less focused not having her around.   It's also one of those times in my life when many friends seem more distant, and I miss them.   Through some sadness and period of adjustment, I am always mindful of the lucky breaks that have come along in the past twelve months.   This one year anniversary serves as a reminder to move on, but it has already been an ongoing process that I know she would want for me and my brother.    Just because we move on doesn't mean we forget.    I couldn't do that; nor would I want to.