We have a good day today as a family. Breakfast out, eggs benedict and good coffee, shopping at a nursery for trees for the garden, some time reading, I work on some computer problems, we cook dinner together, we have champagne.
I propose a toast to my mother, who we wish was here with us, but isn’t, we touch glasses.
I sit quietly beside my father, and he cries; this from a man who I have seen shed tears only a handful of times in my life. I am grateful he is ok to do it with me there, he pats me awkwardly as I hug him, he sobs quietly, I kiss his wrinkled, sun-hardened face.
Today, it has been a year since she died.
Tonight I cry in the shower after everyone is already in bed.
Tomorrow is another day. It’s life. We are just not used to endings.