Three years and coping

It seems a little surreal and hard to believe that today marks three years since mom’s been gone; seems just like yesterday and an eternity at the same time. I received sweet texts this morning from my daughter-in-law and friend, and phone calls from my daughters. I’ll visit mom later today and go to minyan tonight even though I went last week for her yahrzeit, the anniversary of the day of death in the Jewish calendar.

I went back into my email correspondence with Ted, trying to find something. I often referred to Ted as “T.” in my writing, and came across L’s exquisite eulogy that so embodied the essence of mom.

During the heavy grieving period we all cope differently. For me, it was wearing mom’s clothes and using her nail polish on my toes so when I looked down at my feet it was like looking at hers. And today, I’m wearing one of her sweaters and a pair of sandals that I bought with her.

A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of mom or tell her how much I love her. As Ted so poignantly and elegantly told me as only he could, “nothing dies that is remembered.”

In that case, mom is very much alive in me … and always will be.


“Nothing dies that is remembered…”

Those are the words that mom’s beloved T. emailed to me in a note.

I’ve emailed T. twice since mom’s death (still hard to write that) to see how he was. I told him I wasn’t ready to talk yet [for fear of breaking down]. While returning to the office from lunch one day last week, I felt like I was in a good place and could handle a conversation with him. I was half-right.

T. was so happy to hear from me and it felt good and reassuring to hear his voice.. We naturally spoke of mom and how each of us was getting along. I told him M. was coming with to minyan with me to say kaddish and he was happy about that. We talked a little about D.’s upcoming wedding. My voice broke a little. And when the call was close to an end, T. let me know that I can call him anytime and I reciprocated the same.

And in that email T. continued: “One foot in front of the other, and we move along. There’s no other choice. Most important: Mom would want it that way. I love you, T.”

And I love you, too.