Today it's been one year since my mother died. My daughter, E., called me yesterday to say she had found my mother's high school ring, with her initials engraved inside. She is wearing it today, as a memorial. It was E. who first called me to tell me she had died, since she was living close to her at the time. Mike, her husband, identified the body at the funeral home, because she couldn't do it.
For the past year, I have felt haunted. No other word to describe it. It's been embarrassingly similar to the TV show SIX FEET UNDER, in which I could almost have complete conversations with her, so familiar were her words. I knew what she would say, if she were here.
Sometimes, these feelings were so vivid, I felt she was standing over my shoulder. I could hear her voice.
My grief has been profound. I was my mother's only child.
That is not dead which can eternal lie
within stranger eons even death may die
(Lovecraft)