It could have been just yesterday, or Friday when there was a full moon, that I got a call from my brother telling me Momma had died. There was a full moon that night, too. I noticed it when Taylor and I piled our bags into a taxi at 4 in the morning on our way to the airport. The earliest flight we could get. Six hours after Momma died. It was cold that night and very clear. It could have been last week that I was sitting on the plane, feeling like I should be weepy and teary, but noticing how dry the air on the plane was, and how my eyes just hurt.
In other ways, though, as we arrive at 12 months of living without Momma here, time seems to have stretched on into eternity. It seems like ages ago that I packed my weekend bag and headed out to the CCD congress in Los Angeles. In two weeks, I will be attending another congress, but just with Daddy this year. I am looking forward to it.
It could have been years and years since I last hugged Momma good-bye, as she, with great effort, hoisted herself up into the Blue Van to leave Long Beach.
Our last Christmas with Momma wasn't just a year and a few months ago, but forever-ago. The end of an era. I can't even remember the last phone conversation I had with her.
Time passes in strange ways.
But really, I am alright. A few weeks ago, when we were all remembering that it was then last year that the doctors told Momma there was nothing more they could do for her, I got an email from Daddy. He told me:
And he's right. Even though the pain of the loss of our mother is still very fresh and strong, we Rejoice that we will see her again.
Rejoice, oh favored one!