JUST THIS DAY

Two years ago today, your suffering stopped.

Two years ago today, your hurt ended.

Two years ago, I kissed you goodbye for the last time.
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Two years ago, you asked that I be strong in your weakness.
For two years I have been strong, and for two years I have drawn strength from your memory.

But for just one day, one day in each of those years, this day, I break.

I fall apart and ask why. I pull out old pictures, and I curse the cheated, the hurt, and the devastation that a sickness brought.

It happened, and it happened in front of all of us. It happened in the face of faith, it happened in the face of denial, and it happened in spite of every effort.

Then in this same day, and in those same pictures, I see your smile. I see your strength, your wisdom, and your faith.

I shudder to consider my own weakness where you had only grace and power and beauty.

Then I get up, I dry my eyes, and I take a breath.

​You were an incredible mother, you are an unstoppable memory, and you shall forever be my source of strength.

​I love you Mom.