On the thirteenth of that month Farmer Cotton found Frodo lying on his bed; he was clutching a white gem that hung on a chain about his neck and he seemed half in a dream.

‘It is gone for ever,’ he said, ‘and now all is dark and empty.’     ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Today, on the twenty-third of this month, I had originally planned to publish The Hair on my Chinny Chin Chin. Today, on the twenty-third of this month, it seems like I should crawl into bed and mourn the whole day long.

But I didn’t.

This is the third anniversary of my mom’s death. I miss her greatly. I still grieve. But my grief has lessened, and that is a relief. There’s no way I could feel the level of grief I felt the day she died and go on living.

Instead of telling me that you’re sorry for my loss, tell me something about your mom. Something happy; something you love, something you share with your mom. Or something you miss about your mom.

I want to read it.