Today is the fourth anniversary of Mom’s death. Time really does help, though I wouldn’t have believed it back then. I’ve been working on a stack of photos, a mixture of old and new, pictures that I stole out of her photo albums four years ago and that I will put back into those albums soon. It’s an eclectic mix of times in our family, and for the past several days I’ve been pulling out photos that included Mom. There aren’t so many, she was usually the photographer. I have lots of great images of the four kids, but few of her.

It has always been difficult to imagine Mom as anything other than my mom. But as I sort through these photos I begin to see her as a person, separate, though always connected, to her role as a mother. Most of the pictures have some or all of us in them. But these few simple pictures spanning fifty years, which are spread out before me encapsulate her adult life. They make her more real to me, a person with more facets and interests than the mother I knew way back then. In these photos I can see her evolve.

I miss her. Every single day. And I don’t think that is going to change; but then I don’t think I’d want it to change. I’m lucky that I have these memories, a lot of pictures, (hundreds more than the few I borrowed late that night in July of 2004 wait for me back at the lake house), and some pretty cool stories to tell. I was very lucky to have her as my Mom.

Thanks Mom, see you later.