Friday, December 9, 2022

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

We lost Mom one year ago today. A song from Rent asks how we measure a year. It answers its own question: 

Measure it with love.

I don't feel like trying to write anything of substance, nor even my usual lack of substance. I've been down all week, and I don't think that weight is going to lift immediately.

But I've got my tape measure out. Gauging the love we take as equal to the love we make is probably our best option anyway. This feeling will pass. Love will remain.

That's what Mom would have wanted.

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