THE DEATH DAY

Thanks to Zoloft and a wonderful home life, I am not so sad today. It is the ninth anniversary of my Mom's death. Don't get me wrong, it still sucks. It just sucks a little less. I think time has had the most to do with the decrease in suckage. I still can't believe I have been without her for nine years. But then when I try to recall little bits of her, like her voice, it seems like it's been 20 years. Such a strange feeling.

The jeweler who created my wedding ring dropped it off for me the day my Mom died. Bittersweet, no? Mom had given me a beautiful ring that had belonged to her godmother and we used the main diamond for my ring. I added rubies on either side just because I liked their strawberry color, not because they were anyone's birthstone. I received the call from my sister about an hour before the ring arrived. I was numb. I didn't say anything to the jeweler other than how beautiful the ring was. I wore it to my Mom's funeral even though we weren't engaged yet. She had really wanted to see that ring. She was thrilled that I had added rubies. Her favorite color was red.

I still feel a little numb, all these years later. It is like a part of me died with her. I truly believe that. But then I look at what I have because of her and am overwhelmed. I am a good mother because of her. I make a mean pot roast because of her. I have a beautiful wedding ring because of her. I walk and talk and think and love because of her. But what I really want more than anything is to talk to her. I would pay a lot of money for a direct line to heaven. I wish I dreamed about her every night. When I dream about her it is wonderful. Sometimes we just go shopping in the dreams. Sometimes we are in outer space, sometimes in a house or at the beach. I think she visits me in my dreams. Hopefully she will come visit tonight as I lay in bed with my wonderful husband and our sweet baby girl between us.

We are going to get our Christmas tree this evening. It has become a tradition for us to get our tree on Dec. 6. My Mom loved Christmas. She loved decorating the tree and I have such vivid memories of decorating it with her. Hopefully the tradition will keep going with Grace, even though she only knows Nana Jo from photos and stories. So off we go into the not-so-frigid Southern California night, trekking to Target to pick a tall-but-airy noble fir to place in front of our arched picture window for all to enjoy. A perfect tradition for a not-so-perfect day. I love you, Mom.