This is the first Mother’s Day since my mother died last June.
For me, this is the first Mother’s Day since 1952 that my mother hasn’t been here.
She is gone, there is no doubt.
And she is still here, equally without doubt. I bump into her on the driveway when the first spring crocuses emerge in my garden. I hear her voice when I post a photo she’d appreciate. I see her smile when a baby goes by. And on, and on.
“Gone but not forgotten,” is the saying, and Mom loved sayings, writing about them often.
“Gone but not gone” seems more to the point, I think. So may I live that the same will be true of me.