So today's the second anniversary of the day my Mom died. It's a very surreal kinda morning. Last year was surprisingly easy. I thought to myself (and this might sound callous) "She's already dead. What more can they do? They can't take her away again." And my day was quiet. I played with my children. I ate lots of chocolate. I sewed like my Mom did. It wasn't a great day, but it wasn't the worst day.

But this year is subtly different. There's nothing about today that is different from yesterday. I woke to the same giggly baby kicks I awoke to yesterday. The same pretty girl was standing by my bedside with yet another crazy question that made me internally groan wondering why these things could never wait until the sun was up. (Why does she only ponder the nature of the universe before six a.m.?) I'm sure when all my children are awake my house will be filled with the same laughter, hugs, whining, and occasional tears that make every day simultaneously different and mind numbingly the same (behold the joys of motherhood!).

Yet this morning is harder than yesterday. Harder than last year. It is almost as if I didn't realize until now how completely permanent this situation is. Nothing in my life has been this set in stone. I will never see my Mother in this life again. That's it. Never again. There is no miracle. No do over. No one will save the day in the final moment to change this. The time for miracles is past. And every day that marches on, every turn of the calendar, makes this clearer in my mind. And it just isn't fair.

Time marches on. Life moves on without her. In theory this is a good thing. We can not wallow in grief. She wouldn't want that. But not a day goes by that I don't think of her. Not a day passes that I don't miss her. It usually doesn't descend into wallowing, but sometimes the ache is sharper than other times.

Today is it razor sharp.

I miss my Mom.

But don't worry. I won't sit and wallow today either. In a fit of insanity, knowing full well what today is, I told my friend I would watch her two year old twins today. I love them, they're excellent children, but they're lively in a way my older children have outgrown. I must go lock the yarn cabinet and put away the step stool I keep in the bathroom. They should be here in an hour.

Whatever day today turns out to be, it will not be dull.

And life marches on.....