Today I’m adding an excerpt from a piece I wrote shortly after my mother’s death in the late fall of 1997.

The pain seems endless and unimaginable. My mother is gone and a more significant loss is unimaginable in this moment. Some moments are managable and others rip through my heart. Most of the time I don’t know what day it is, and I can’t remember the simplest of details. She’s been gone thirteen days. I can’t begin to imagine the rest of my life without her laughter, knowledge and phone calls. I can’t believe she wont share my most precious moments, marriage, births, jobs and the ups and downs of every day life.

I rage at the injustice of her loss. She was beautiful, healthy, vegetarian and a dedicated workout enthusiast. She died at fifty-three within ten weeks of being diagnosed with lung cancer. Her disease progressed quickly, spreading to her bones, causing her great pain. My mother was brave and unafraid. She never complained about the cancer, and she didn’t rail at the injustice of her illness as I do. I wish I had one tenth of her strength. I know she is better off in spirit, out of pain, but the pain of her physical loss is tearing me apart. My thoughts are selfish and I don’t care. I hate that I have to live without her.