One year ago Sunday, my mother died. I still miss her. I still grieve, less than before but still nonetheless. One year ago Sunday I sat by my mother’s side reading her stories, holding her hand, wafting wisps of hair away from her forehead and gently kissing her cheek. She was so frail, so timid and, at the same time, so strong, so tenacious. She held on for days and I don’t know why she did. I’ll be sure to ask her when I see her again. One day I will die too and when I do, eventually, after sobbing tears of happiness in seeing her again, I will ask her. Maybe it’s defiance, a little something I know something about. Maybe it’s dedication, something I am learning about. Or maybe it’s love, something I knew nothing about until she taught me. Either way, I will ask her.
This Sunday I’ll be diving San Miguel, Northern most of California’s Channel Islands. It is one of the most difficult dives recreationally. Frankly, I don’t know how to celebrate my mother’s death but below the surface of tides and waves and tons of pressure of beauty and force and life I will celebrate my mother’s death day and she will be proud of me for doing so. I will see her in rocks, in sand, in fish and in forests of kelp. I will see my mom in everything that I do. I will see her not because she is there but because I wish she were. I miss mom. I REALLY just miss my mom.