Year ten.

 Today marks ten years since my father's death. I had kept thinking that maybe I should do something like a family dinner or something along those lines. However I felt that would be pointless actually since mom wouldn't be able to attend and my sister probably wouldn't want to come. My sister was always very close to dad and has never been the same since he died.

 A neighbour dropped in to say he was thinking about me today and to wish me well on this sad anniversary. I felt that was really thoughtful, very typical for him and it picked up my spirits. He grew up on a neighboring farm so he has known dad all his life. I couldn't help thinking this morning that ten years ago dad was alive and as afternoon approached, that he wasn't. I don't know what the significance of ten years really means if anything, it's like a last milestone, once past this number... then counting years becomes silly I guess.

 I decided to go visit mom to see how she is doing. Thinking of dad in regards to mom, on Friday morning when I got the call that mom could have a heart attack, I remember having the feeling that I will never see her again. That memory came back from when dad died, an overwhelming drowning feeling that I will never see him again. As much of a strain mom's care can be and even though most of "mom" is gone, the thought that I would never see her again broke my heart.

 Mom is doing fine, I found her in the sitting room, snuggled under a blanket relaxing in a reclining chair. She just had snack time, she seemed quiet today, not very talkative, the nurse said everything has been normal since Friday and that mom was her usual self.

 One week, one month, one year, one decade, unbelievable to us. I didn't mark the occasion today, I didn't go to dad's gravesite, I rarely do because to me Dad is not there. He's not coming back and sometimes I feel the young people today have a better idea, instead of a sad funeral, they have a celebration of life for the person. That sounds better, I would rather think about the time he cooked a frozen pizza upside down on a cookie sheet, than pointlessly mourn for him. I remember my aunt, who had been widowed many years, saying to us at the time, "you never get over losing someone special, you only get used to it".