Today marks one month since Mom's immortality shrugged off her mortality.

Mom's decline accelerated so much toward the end that we felt whiplashed. We’d hoped for another year or two. Then the 4th of July. Well, maybe graduation, we thought, or at least Mother’s Day. In the end, we had Mom’s 75th birthday. Then Valentine’s Day. Then Easter. And then a new and bittersweet holiday, the 21st of April.

The week leading up to Mom's funeral stalled then surged like a slipping belt. We didn't want the funeral to come but needed it to. We both needed comfort and community and didn't want to be around a bunch of condolence-wishers.  (But they were kinder and more considerate than we could've hoped--not a dumb word was spoken despite one always fearing you'll say the wrong thing in these circumstances.)

As we collected photos for the service, resemblances and facets of Mom and Dad both were discovered or rediscovered. Dad looked at an old black and white headshot Mom had given him when they were freshly in love. “I still see her when I look at your mom. I see all of her, over the years." 

Dad noted he’d done a lot of walking backwards in recent weeks as Mom was too weak and unsteady to get up and around on her own. At first it was yards to the car and doctors’ appointments, then feet to the other room. Dad steadied Mom with his hands and arms. Mom steadied us all with her faith. 

We are all walking backwards for the moment, allowing the pauses in conversation where Mom’s voice might have chimed in, feeling the hurt of her absence, reluctantly learning new routines. I found myself wanting to send Mom the link to Gabe's graduation video, then wanting to send a piece of cake home with Dad from the open house, but no...