Every year I think things will be better. And every year they aren't.
My mother passed away on this date twelve years ago now. I don't sit around moping and crying all the time, so don't think that. Life has certainly moved on because it must and it's mentally and emotionally healthy to do so; however, I seem to miss her more each year. I don't cry more than I did in those first days and months—I don't think that is humanly possible—but the sense of loss and wanting to see her again grows. I see how my children aren't getting the love and hugs that she once gave to the first two. I catch myself wishing she were here to help me. Her presence is sorely missed when there are accomplishments. I believe that her presence is near, but there is absolutely nothing like sharing the same air, getting a real life physical hug, and hearing someone say I love you. That scenario has been far too long absent from my life.
She had her shortcomings, everyone does, but she had such a vibrant personality that it outshone the flaws. My mother taught me how to give and love and live. I am thankful to have her example to draw from as my life keeps twisting and turning.
I'm pretty sure I break my own heart every year with these reflections, but if I didn't take the time to express my love for her, I'd be cheating myself too.
Here's a few links that you might like to read:
The Best White Bread Recipe Yet Written
The Best Mostaccioli Recipe Yet Written
The Best Pumpkin Cookie Recipe Yet Written