Monday is the day of … and the day after.
This is the eighth anniversary year of mom’s passing – and the Monday after the weekend when celebration, remembrance and dinner pictures find their way on Facebook walls.
Today isn’t the end of a mid-late winter weekend when my mom died. I held her hand during an earlier, colder, hospice-sterile, emotionally filled room almost ten years ago. It wasn’t Mother’s Day weekend, but it was a day with my mother. My last day with her.