Today on the 10th anniversary of Mom’s death, I was initially planning on going to the cemetery like last year, talking to her and hoping for some kind of response, a feeling or a sense of her presence… but I didn’t go. She’d said, she actually didn’t want us hanging out there, as if that’s where she was there, and that must be true, because I don’t feel any closer to her when I’m there. I can talk to her anywhere, and I do, but it still makes me sad not to hear her answer back. You’d think after 10 years I’d have gotten use to our one sided conversations… I haven’t.
A few years ago it was suggested to me that I start journaling, but I didn’t care for it at all, it felt like talking to myself. But today it occurred to me… maybe I should write to mom! I still love reading her old emails, the longer the better. I’ve saved pretty much everything she ever wrote me. So today, I started writing to mom. It didn’t feel like talking to myself and there’s no expectation of hearing her respond. It just seems so fitting, writing to some one who loved to write and loved to read! I still have so much to say to her and I expect that will always be true. I wish I thought of this 10 years ago, I feel like I have a novel to write now. A novel… I think she’ll like that.