All these posts have the same subject.

Mom.  Grief.  Love.  Amy.

Anyway...

Amy and I have a new thing where I read to her from Mom's blog each night.  She loves it, and she laughs and laughs.  I find it excruciating, but it's not like I'm not reading these posts and sobbing my face off other times.  And we don't sob when we read them.  But there always this little part of me that is totally ready to FREAK OUT and start crying.  Pipe down, grief monster.

I have to find more writing of Mom's to read her.  I know there is a diary my mom wrote when I was born, but I've been saving it.

We follow it up with our other tradition -- singing -- anywhere from one to eight songs.  Special songs.

I told her the next time we'll see her is May 5.  Cinco de Mayo.  The "anniversary".  The day when I was just sitting at home at my table in my sewing room, logged in to class, I think, while I friend gchat-ed me  the proceeding of what was going on where she was, and I relayed them to another friend.  And it was silly and fun, and I was happy.  I'd just ordered Mom's Mother's Day present on Etsy.  And then the phone rang.

Anyway, I told her we'll see her May 5.  Earlier today, she hinted that I should up this weekend.  Or I should say, she acted like we'd planned for me to come up.  We need to make our plans in advance and know them and stick to them so she can look forward to them and so that there won't be their weirdness about every single weekend.  Of course, I'd have to get over my making plans more than 24-hours in advance paralysis that I've also had a touch of but has been particularly strong lately.  And by lately I mean the last year.