Today was the one month anniversary of my mom's death. We visited the grave -- I haven't been there since the 3rd day picnic. I've made some progress cleaning and going through stuff. But you'd never be able to tell from the mess around the bed. We keep discovering new little things about my mom. And finding reminders of our past. Nothing much has changed in the last month; I suspect it hasn't been enough time for healing, forgetting, or neglect.

Mom, California, 1970