11 Years

I'm an asshole. Today's my mom's anniversary, and I very nearly forgot. I didn't think I'd ever be able to forget. But I guess it just goes to show, that's what 11 years - and a new house, new baby, neurotic dog, and weekend travel - will do to a person's awareness of dates and anniversaries. Forgetting is what scares me most.

I do remember last year, 10 years after she died, writing a blog post while in Tahoe. We were stranded longer than we had planned to visit because the Subaru broke down. I desperately wanted a dog. We were trying to get pregnant. I had just finished grad school. We were living in an apartment downtown. Flash forward one year and we are flying home from visiting Tahoe. We have a beautiful three month old daughter. We own our own home almost in the burbs. We have a dog that resembles a gremlin. We are both working in professions we trained hard for. My what a difference a year makes.

I do desperately wish my mom were alive to meet Francie. She would make the best grandmother. Loving and supportive, positive, fun. And she would tell the Bean to look out the window at the pretty scenery. And teach her to make lace cookies. And send her notes telling her how much she loved her. And sing Rosenshontz while walking hand and hand.

So maybe that's how it'd be in my fantasy family, but I sure wish I had ALL of my real family to share in this extraordinary blessing that is a new baby.

While the clarity and crispness of my memories sadly fade with each year, Mom, I think of you often and wish you were still here.