Memorial Day

"Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-etre hier..."

I'd already read Camus' L'Etranger when my own mother died 21 years ago today, so it echoed in my brain that day. It did not move me though, at least not the way hearing James Taylor's "Fire and Rain" a month or so later did:

"I always thought that I'd see you again."

That made me lose it. Even now, so many years later, it's hard to hear.

My tradition for acknowledging the day was to take the day off of work to give myself time to remember. This year, that didn't work out; it feels a little weird. Not sure if it that or something else, but this year it feels like it is weighing on me more. Maybe it's just how large the number of years has gotten. It's amazing.