It was the strangest thing

As I was walking into the coffee room of our newly renovated office space, preparing to fill my mug with ice water, it dawned on me, "I want to call my mother."

I know my mom is dead. She's been gone nearly a year. I think about her -- and her passing -- every day. As we approach the anniversary, I think to myself, "It was a year ago today that she saw this/that for the last time."

Sometimes when I think of my mom I'm mad at her. I can't believe she put me in charge of her messed up final affairs when she was very aware of what a bitch her oldest child can be. I feel like a pawn in the final disagreement between the two of them and I really resent it.

Sometimes when I think of her I'm sad, because I know how much she loved her grandchildren and tending her yard. I wish she could enjoy being outdoors with my nephew these unusually mild summer afternoons.

But today is the first time I have ever had the impulse to pick up the phone and call her.

I wonder when, or if, I'll ever get used to her being gone.