The start of the year has been full of small cares and worries. Accounts to be renewed, work issues to be addressed, lots of stories to be written, necessities that had to be bought.
But in between all this, running on loop in my mind, is the fact that mom is gone. One more year has passed, it’s been now three years. The grief, though, seems fresh as yesterday, even more poignant. It doesn’t even require an anniversary, every Saturday looms large and insurmountable, a remembrance of that fateful day when she passed on.
There are so many things to remind me of her, the photos I stumble upon, her letters lying around written in a language I can’t read. The things she had the foresight to buy which are standing us in good stead, the money she saved which I chance upon in strange nooks and corners like stumbling upon a rare gift.
This year is chillier than other years, weatherwise and emotionally. A lot of friendships have been put to the test and not yielded reassuring results. It’s a long winter for me. Perhaps some transformation is afoot. Change waits for none, not even a grieving soul.