3 weeks

Three weeks this morning. I have to stop myself from phoning you just to be sure you really won't answer. The constant surprise is like reliving a moment that changed my whole existance over and over. I said last night to Jim "Can you really believe she died. How could she be dead?" and I meant it. How is it possible?...
I went to have coffe with my friend, Yvonne. Her daughter and Gavin are the same age and they played so sweetly while we talked about losing our Mom's. She lost her mother to Cancer as well so I feel a certain instant closeness to her that others outside this "club" would find hard to understand. It is nice to be doing normal things and talking on a rainy day, but the conversation seems to always turn back to you.
You are missed. I know you'd be happy that we think of you but sad that we are lonely. I think of some of the things you said when I was feeling so hopeless that last afternoon, "we've had alot of fun times together". I forgot to write that in my story of your last days. WE did have so many fun moments. I was thinking of the day we went to the last support group when you fell, I picked up the fuzzy jacket you wore and smelled it to find you, it did have your scent. It made me think of how we would have laughed when you fell in any other time, but you were too sick to find the humor that day and I was too scared, tired, confused to find it. The last months were so different but you remembered the laughter that last day.
I love you, Mom. I am working hard to process the grief and move forward.