It's funny the little things we do to comfort ourselves, because really, what do the dead know about the fresh flowers you buy them? Or the candles you religously burn in front of their pictures? The little altars you build for them? As if not doing these things could possibly mean you missed them less, that somehow your loss isn't as intense as it is.

I do it anyway. Another one of those ways to keep myself busy remembering my mom.

I went to work. My co-workers are wonderful. At first I didn't know how I was going to make it through the day, but the mindless numbness of going through over a week of email didn't seem so bad after a couple of hours. In fact, it was reassuring -- working without having to really work, without having to concentrate so hard. It made the day go by. And another night has gone by. I can't sleep until I'm absolutely exhausted. I'm almost there.

Mom, 1969