We've had a string of rainy, cool days. I'm missing my mom. Rainy days are hard, and I'm sure snowy days will be harder.
Time marches on as it always does and mom isn't coming back. That thing that happened isn't a bad dream. I am not immune to tragedy.
Mom, being the Scot that she was, always loved a misty, rainy day. I do, too - that Scottish blood, you know. But it was always best when I had her here, sharing a book and a deep conversation, a cup of tea or a glass of wine.
Mom. Where are you. We had such plans for this summer.