Today bears the same date as the day my mother died, but that day will always be a Tuesday to me.  It felt like a Tuesday.  Or maybe Tuesdays will always feel like that day, which was sunny in that extra bright early spring way.  No leaves on the trees yet, exposing the squirrels and birds as they reorganized.  Daffodils all over the place but not yet the lush green of deep spring.

I’m still surprised at times to realize that she’s gone.  Seeing her name on the grave marker was probably as close as I’ve come to fully realizing her death. I think I’ve used the phrase “suspension of disbelief” before–Coleridge coined the phrase to refer to a reader’s response to the fantastic in an otherwise credible story.  If a story resonates with the reader she is likely to accept such elements as the supernatural or chronological discrepancies.  Something like that is going on with me, I think.  Placing flowers on her grave is one way of suspending disbelief.  Giving away her clothing is another.  Despite it all there is something still alive.

So I find myself feeling like a tightrope walker without a net, now that both parents are gone. I don’t have much more to say than that right now, but the date needed to be marked.