I remember feeling untethered for several months after she was gone. A childlike sense of "wait -- how can I be here without you?" And while it took some time, I came to look upon it all like the grandest of adventures.
My mother died when I was 18 years old. We were just beginning to know each other as adults, finally leaving behind the drama of my adolescence and the tedium of childhood. Now that I'm in my 30s, here's what I wish I could tell my mother.
It's uncanny that Mum died the day before we were scheduled to depart. I ate volumes of candy during that long train ride. Nobody suggested I shouldn't. And I've always suspected that a lifelong pattern of episodic over-indulgence began that day.