My mother died in March. On the eleventh. Two and a half years ago.

But I find that I think of her more often in the fall, especially as we approach All Saint’s Day.

The year she died, November 1 hit me hard, much more strongly than I expected. And now, as this time of year approaches, once again, I miss Momma the most.

Maybe it’s because my birthday is in November. Maybe it’s because Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday. Maybe it is because she always did such a good job on our Halloween costumes, sewing them fresh for us each year. Maybe it was the imminent joy of approaching Christmas that filled her house with so much Love this time of year..

One of the things about grief is that we never know when it will resurface, when it will find new expression in a memory or a reminder of those we miss.

All we can do is listen to what it tells us, reminding us of joys we knew and keeping alight the hope of things to come.

I love you, Momma.

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