I miss my mom terribly. The week after she died, I felt like I was in a weird movie which I begged unsuccessfully to end. There were so many operational details which will haunt me the rest of my life: going to her house for the first time and seeing the failed CPR equipment scattered in her bedroom; walking into the NY funeral home where she was embalmed and meeting the director who was 4'11", dressed in black, and with his terrible stutter, explaining that I couldn't see her post autopsy since she looked so badly; shaking and crying the entire redeye from SJC to JFK; going to the police station to piece together how she could have died so quickly; and most painful of all, seeing her in her casket and fainting immediately, despite Patrick and my aunts holding me tightly.

Now the formalities are over, I'm back in California, and life is expected to go on. I'm going back to work tomorrow. The kids are still on Christmas vacation and are looking for entertainment. The bills, which are overdue, need to be paid. The Christmas tree is out on the front corner. The sympathy cards and calls have stopped trickling in and so it feels like it's time for me to move on.

But I can't.

I miss her so badly. I want to call her everytime the kids say or do something funny. I want to ask her how to make Chicken a la king. I want to tell her that we loved the gifts she sent at Christmas and when was she coming out to visit us next? I want to tell her that I will bring Ellie on my next trip to NY and could she stay with us again. I want to tell her that I'm sorry I was snotty on the phone the last time we spoke -- I was just upset with her that she wasn't taking good enough care of herself and that I loved her so very much. I am unbearably sad that I can't ever tell her these things or hold her ever again.

I'm sure the grief will ease with time. I just don't know when that time will come.