Tomorrow it will be a full month since she died.

It seems odd that she’s not there. I still say my parents’ house and my parents’ condo. I still think of it as Mother’s.

Of course, I told my 19 year old today, “Here’s Gramma” while patting the urn of her ashes sitting in the window of the kitchen. I know my mom’s not really there, but…

When we were little and sick she would climb in bed with us. And feed us Sprite and popsicles.

She went with me to my high school graduation and helped me make it through that, even though I was sick with strep throat at the time. (We didn’t know until I got back to my medical microbiology class the next Monday.)

Mom answered the phone in the middle of the night and talked to me when I was sick or scared or just lonesome.

Mom would call just to talk.

Mom sat with me all night in the hospital, when my husband was too tired to stay.

Mom watched my son while I was in the hospital.

Mom took care of her mother for the last two years of Grama’s life.

Mom never met a stranger.

Mom enjoyed talking to people, and until the last three years, they enjoyed talking to her.

Mom didn’t hold people’s evil against them.

Mom was a prayer warrior extraordinaire. I hope the Catholics have it right and she can hear me. Pray for me, Momma.

My mother is in Heaven.