How did my friend know, when I didn’t even know myself, that the most difficult anniversary of all had torn the membrane between my grief and my memories? How could she tell that the final days of May were tethered to feelings I still can’t quite reconcile, when I shed the last tears for Mom I ever would in the last place where she would lay down to sleep, emptied by me and my kindest friends of whatever was left to pack or donate or discard? Who told my friend to remind me that I didn’t need to ever feel bad about my mom, that Mom’s life was her life, and that I had done everything I could, and now it was time to take care of myself?
I think we all know who it was. And I am listening.