We were chatting in the "Identity Crisis Room", the one that juts eastward, and has served as a dining room, office, toy room, and family room, all. Mom was sprawled upon the couch, a blanket twisted around her legs. Dad moved the electric fireplace in there for her.

"Oh, I ordered so many things to decorate out here!" she exclaimed. She loved her home. She had but recently painted this room a deep burgundy, something she had wanted to do for eons. She twittered on about her plans for the room, her wall decorations. God, she was beautiful...her eyes were so bright and animated. She bounced up to lean on an elbow, renewed vigor in her weakened body. She wanted my opinion on an ornate mirror, and we chose one together. It was January 9th.

Today, as we left a 6-hour thank-you-card-writing-marathon, we stumbled upon a large package from JC Penny. I didn't know that I had a nail bomb lodged in my heart until it detonated just then. Dad looked dumbfounded. "I don't know what it is," he replied. I did. I knew. I asked if I could have it. He shrugged, not caring one way or the other, and carried to my aunts' SUV.

The sadness and loss is thick and stews at the back of my throat. A mirror set this off...a mirror, of all things! But it's more than a mirror, really. It's an idea of tomorrow being pulled unfairly from our reach. Plans never being realized. A house no longer feeling like home. It's missing my mother, my best friend, with everything that I am, everything that I ever was, and everything that I'll ever be.

It's still sitting in the SUV, that mirror. I don't know when I'll be able to look at it. Mom often wondered after she was diagnosed with Cancer if she would ever look in the mirror and see herself again. I look in the mirror now, and she's all that I see looking back at me. It is a sweet agony.