The first thing I thought of this morning was to wonder which Catholic Saint's day it is. Which day does my mom share with a hero in the Catholic world? I was happy to learn, it's St. George, the dragon slayer, which I really like because I love dragons and fairies and elves and talking trees and all things fantastic and other worldly. (He likely only killed an alligator or something, but the myth of the dragon is so much better!)

I have an abundance of magical thinking, I always have. One of the books I listened to last year right after losing my mom was, "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion. Her life brought the horror of the death of her husband and daughter all within the same year. Her writing helped to normalize so many things for me. She kept a pair of her husband's shoes after he died for that whole year. Her logical brain knew he wasn't going to ever need them, but her magical brain had to hold onto them. 

I have found I have magical thinking around my mom's death too. I think there has been this part of me that held on to the possibility that this year's anniversary would bring some kind of change, and if I'm to be totally honest, I know I have the fantastic, magical idea that the dimensions will part and she'll suddenly be here to catch up on all that we've been through and fill us in on her year's journey. It's like I haven't wanted this date to come and go because then I'll have to live in the reality again that she isn't going to sit with me for morning coffee to hear about the kids and the details of the year that I've been holding for her. This date, coming and going, will propel me into reality in a way I've sort of liked not holding. 

Sheldon Vanauken writes about the death of his wife in 'A Severe Mercy' and similarly discusses this thinking that happens with grief and loss. "Along with the emptiness...and along with the grief...I kept wanting to tell her about it....[...]now this huge thing was happening to me, and I couldn't tell her. I sometimes thought I could bear the loss and grief if only I could tell her about it." He also discusses how he remembers her in all the different ways she had been in her life. Instead of her just being sick and dying, she became whole in his memory. I think this is magical type thinking in a way.  It's outside of time and that is how I hold my memories of my mom now too. 

Molle doesn't have magical thinking. She doesn't understand how I remember my mom in an out of time way.  All of her ages and stages, even ages I wasn't alive for, but heard stories about, are encapsulated when I think of her right now. I've experienced this a little with my grown kids. When I see them in their adult form, but all the memories of their earlier stages are held inside of me. It's a little different for what I experience with my mom, but that 's the closest I can liken it to.  Maybe its one of the things that makes it seem harder for me. The whole of her is so much more to lose than the suffering woman who was eager to be with her loved ones.

I don't think it's possible for me to change this thinking though. Just like I don't know if I'll ever stop the thinking about the possibility that she could step back into my visual field, possibly on the back of a dragon, accompanied by fairies as the trees sing in exaltation and I get to share with her the difficulties I've had with grief and loss over my morning coffee.