I've marveled over the past month how I seem to have finally taken that leap from mourning to remembering with great fondness...and as the end of this month began to draw ever nearer, I marveled more still that the anniversary of my mother's death didn't have me huddled in a pathetic, sobbing mess...my father scheduled dinner for this coming Friday...he wanted to do something with his family on that day, easily the saddest in all of our lives.

But as the time ticks down, I find myself with strange visions that I had somehow buried all these months—I have a very visual memory: I see snapshots, memories captured forever in color and light—the living room at my father's house, the hospital bed situated near the window, the light pouring in, the Christmas tree discarded on the deck (visible through the French doors that we just hadn't had time to properly dispose of)...and I remember that a year ago yesterday, two days before she died, was the first time in days that she seemed like the person I knew, and also the last time I saw that person. The thrashing and delirium faded for pockets of time and she urged us all close and told us how much she loved us. A year ago today, she was in a coma.

It is a comfort that I believe in a higher power. It is a comfort that I was born with a faith that I have never questioned. It is a comfort to know that she did not fear death for she new she was going to a splendor we could never fathom here on Earth. There is a song from Mercy Me titled "I can only imagine." I fight the emotion conjuring in the back of my throat whenever I hear the opening chords and I think of what it must have been like for my mother to meet her maker...and I'm so happy for her.

Surgery. Tomorrow. That sneaked up on me. I had a post up earlier today...it had about an hour of air time before I took it down and decided it wasn't exactly what I want to say. Fear does funny things to you and makes funny thoughts come to the surface.

I've had the weirdest sensations today. I catch myself saying goodbye to my favorite blanket, brushing my fingertips over my lotions and perfumes, and looking back one last time as I step from the shower. And Nick...I'm going to miss my routine with Nick...I'm going to miss home. I've never missed home like that before. To the great disappointment of my parents who missed me, even college was no big deal. And, not to point out the obvious, but I had no qualms relocating 1200 miles when the opportunity arose. Not to say that I did not LOVE my childhood home, because I did. I also had no problem leaving my home in North Carolina for extended visits here. I don't feel like dissecting why that was just now.

But I seem to be happy here, truly happy at the core...and I don't want to leave, even if only for a week. I don't know, maybe I just don't like where I'm going...but then, my mother loved hospitals, just loved being admitted. I'm dreading my stay...I miss home already.