Nov. 30th

Tomorrow is one of those can't-get-out-of-my head type days. It's like anticipating a holiday or anniversary but without the excitement. The anticipation is more about the unknown. I don't know if I'll be a sobbing mess or if I'll be able to plaster on a cheesy smile and sail through the day. Tomorrow marks the 365th day since my mom passed away. What makes this day verses any other different is beyond me. I continue to mourn her death no matter what day of the week. It seems almost morbid to mark tomorrow as an anniversary because the word is associated with positive things, a first date, a first kiss, a wedding. Unfortunately, the date brings with it words I haven't been able to get out of my mind for the last month, "At this time last year I was..." And for the last month that phrase ended with, counting respirations, administering morphine, dressing wounds and telling my sweet, sweet mother how much I love her for the last time.

This last month has been a roller coaster of emotions. At one minute I'm smiling and laughing with friends, the next minute I'm sitting silently in a blank daze, and the next I'm fighting to hold back tears that are taking over. Those closest to me were warned from the beginning and have been more than understanding. It seems impossible that I just made it through one year without someone who was, for so long, involved 100% in my life as I was in hers. It seems impossible that I am to continue for the next years without her. That any future children I have will not know how wonderful she was. Sure, I can tell stories but they will never know her voice, her touch, her personality.

People called her stubborn. I call it strong. She fought her disease for two years as a single mother of five children and one grandchild. She worked a job until the day she went into the hospital for her final surgery. And when the doctor called me that night to tell me she had two days to live, she fought for two weeks. Two weeks that allowed us to talk, laugh, cry, and be a family. Two weeks for her to make sure she had taken care of everything and that her children would be OK when she was gone. She did her job. We are OK.