Two years ago, I wrote this.

October 16, 2008

The day came and went, and it was remarkably like any other day.

My mood waxed and waned, and it was remarkably like any other day.

All over the world, people went about their business, and it was remarkably like any other day.

Last Thursday marked one year.

Do I have to say more than that?

I had been depressed most of Monday. Too much time alone leads to too much thinking leads to existential crisis and despair.

I passed by the bench I was at when I first found out that she had cancer. I sat on that bench for hours, crying, and here I was, back on that goddamn bench, crying.

Sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

I thought of all The Lasts: The Last Time I Spoke to Her, The Last Time I Spoke to Her And She Spoke Back. The Last Time I Hugged Her, The Last Time I Hugged Her And She Hugged Back, The Last Time Her Eyes Were Open, The Last Time I Watched Her Cook Dinner, The Last TV Show We Watched Together, The Last Time She Stood On the Driveway and Waved Goodbye to Me as I Backed Out. This list could go on forever.

The more mundane the memory, the better.

Thursday arrived, as promised. No amount of personal anguish stops the steady march of time.

I was fine until 10:30, which is the first time I cried that day.

I didn't cry because I missed my mom, which I do.

I didn’t cry because I felt like an orphan, which sometimes I do.

I didn't cry because the world is a dark uncertain place, which sometimes it is.

I cried because of two text messages I got about my plans for the day. I cried from joy.

One was from Tim, the guy I’ve been seeing and it said: “Morning, sweetie. I hope whatever it is you have planned today turns out the way you need it to. I’ll be thinking about you all day. Xoxo.”

One was from Sameen, my hetero life partner and it said: “What do you think about today? Do you want me to come with?”

The former made me cry because it’s filled with the promise of a new relationship, the thrill that someone out there is thinking of you and your well being, and the realization that someone really cares for you, even though you just met them. It's a warm feeling that anyone is lucky to have.

The latter made me cry because in that instant, I realized that if she wasn’t in my life, I would have killed myself long ago. When I went through everything, it wasn’t just me alone, she was experiencing them all with me in a way that no one else did. The constant phone call updates that I would relay, the first real conversations I had about the possibility Mom would die, the question, "Do I pack black clothes?," the support to change life paths, she was the first person I called after it happened. It’s a simple text fraught with personal meaning and understanding and warmth.

The only way I can describe the rest of my day is to preface it with this statement: It was like I was a character undergoing catharsis in a novel.

I left work at about 12:30 and took a long walk home without my glasses on, just thinking, internalizing, ruminating. At the very moment I reached my apartment, it started raining.

I cried in the shower for an hour. I shivered, I was scalded, I sat in the bathtub sobbing. Moments of calm interspersed with hysterical crying, presented in a way only bathroom acoustics can provide.

I died in that tub, and the water washed it away.

A voice in my head simply said, "Enough." And it was.

I went up to a Buddhist temple in Cambridge, lit three sticks of incense, paid my respects, and just talked to mom for an hour.

I took another long walk to finish my day, and I did something I knew I wanted to do for a long time, but wasn't too sure of in the past.

It's deeply personal, and while a few very dear people in my life do know about it, I'd rather not discuss it. Even I have my blog limits.

The minute I left to go home, I said to myself, Today is a New Day, and so is Tomorrow. You can Do It, and you're doing it Right Now. And You Are Doing Okay.

It was only one day, one day of 365 that she's been gone, but it was very important to me. It illuminated a lot... a lot of different things, some greatly outside the scope of her passing.

Only two people let me know they were thinking about me on Thursday. Not that I expected everyone I've ever met to send a "I'm sorry yer Ma's dead" text, or email, or phone call, but it's a strange feeling to think that the people who used to be the closest to you are wrapped up in their own lives and jobs and responsibilities, and that Thursday was just another Thursday, instead of being THE Thursday. Some I didn't expect anything from, but some... some really hurt.

But that's the Nature of loss, and grief. It is truly no one's but your own. I was incredibly touched by the two people who did take that one minute out of their day. One came from someone who I can't say I expected to hear from, but who I know can relate with me in the worst way possible. The other, someone I love and miss, who I know will always be there.

Yes, I do get by with a little help from my friends, but at the end of the day, if most of that isn't from myself, then it doesn't work.

I think I had the best day I could possibly have had on Thursday. The dizzying highs, the terrifying lows, the existential crisis, the long walks, the baptism, the pain, oh dear God, the pain, the catharsis, the beginning of a resolution, the healing, the future.

I ended my day by having a nice dinner with Tim and then falling asleep to the Red Sox game. An ordinary ending to a really big day.

I'd have it no other way.