The pleasure of nostalgia is never without its companion, loneliness. ~Isuna Hasekura

My Mom’s birthday was yesterday; it was the third year we didn’t celebrate with her and the day felt a bit empty.

January 2017 marked the first birthday without her. I remember thinking that it had been five months since she had passed and everything that I had missed in those five short months.

I missed celebrating my 50th birthday with her.

I missed her wonderful stuffing that first Thanksgiving and the gracious way she always opened her home (and set an extra plate or two for the occasional drop-in guests) on Christmas Eve.

I had missed six jubilant “Happy Months!” that we’d race to be the first to wish each other at the start of each month (a tradition she passed along from her father).

I missed our daily phone calls.

I missed seeing her interact with my children and the laughter she shared with them.

Now, it has been two years, five months since she passed. Two more of her own birthdays, as well as two more of mine, have passed. Two more Thanksgivings and two more Christmases have come and gone.

Time continues to move forward.

My younger son now races to tell me “Happy Month” on the first of each month (the bugger has beaten me 25 of the 29 months since her death); our Thanksgiving and Christmas traditions have changed and while we all miss her wonderful stuffing, I’ve been fortunate enough to have her recipe for English brown gravy and her Sherry cake.

When we visit my Dad, my boys pore over pictures of them sitting on her lap, hamming it up for the camera, and at various holidays and celebrations; they remember those special days. My sons pause in quiet reflection as they peruse the photos and read the handwritten notes she sent them for every holiday, birthday and special occasion.

My Mom’s writing and sentiments remind my children how much they were loved by her.

I get a lump in my throat knowing that some point in time both of my boys will forget their memories of my Mom: her smile, her laughter, and her generous hugs and kisses. On this day of remembrance and reflection, it hits me: these are just memories of the mind.

It is the memories held in the heart that matters.