The head shot hangs in the hallway outside my bedroom door. Taken scant weeks after her diagnosis of terminal cancer, it shows her smiling, freshly lipsticked, with her sister's loving hand on her shoulder.
This morning, looking into the bathroom mirror while brushing my teeth, remembering last night, I say to myself, "It's reality, girl; it's not as if every damn one of us doesn't lose our mom sometime. Don't wallow and whine."
So I won't.
Instead I'll winge about the weather.
Last weekend the snow was melting.
This weekend we've had more snow and the wind's biting cold.
It won't last long now, but still . . . it won't be missed when it finally goes.
