Hey Mom,

Just now, I was looking at the calendar and realizing that tomorrow marks the 1 year anniversary since I last saw you. It was the last time I was able to hug you. The goodbye was more rushed than I would have liked, but we stretched the moment out as much as we could. I had to rush off to use the printers at FedEx before they closed. Time.

Like that day, today I’m running around collecting and printing documents. Putting together the final pieces of paperwork for the largest (volume wise) document I have ever created, much larger than the few pages we tried to print at your house.

That last night in Michigan was a Wednesday. I remember being quite frustrated when your printer wasn’t working. I apologized to you for being so childish about it. You said that it was OK that I was upset, and you said that you knew I wasn’t upset with you. I was relieved, but apologized again anyway. In some subtle way, I regretted during a moment where I could let go. When you saw that, you subtly let me know that it wasn’t necessary to beat myself up about it. I remember you freeing me from that thought. It was a subtle thing, but I still cherish that example of forgiveness.

I was about to drive across the country. I remember feeling good about us and our ability to move through that extremely frustrating moment. Both us noticing it in the other, then giving them silent permission to let it go. Broken computer accessories are good at creating frustrations, which is only amplified when I’m in a rush. That was awesome, Mom.

You’ve taught me a lot. I want you/me/us to know that I’ve being doing what I can to find the gifts in your absence. It really doesn’t feel like you are “gone”, but I know something has significantly changed. There are gaps in my life that I will have to make my own paths for. I can no longer find you outside of myself.

This past weekend, I was having dinner with an old friend of mine who I met over a decade ago, in Vancouver. I met him again in Toronto about 6 years later, and now recently, in Edmonton. We’re apparently subconsciously following each other around the country.  Epic Two-Finger Pushup Dave. One day I’m going to accidentally call him “Bruce”.

Anyhow, as Dave and I ate through piles of fish, we spoke of you. At one point, we both became very quiet, then silent. Dave looked into my face and said, “I can see her right now. I see her looking at me. She’s wonderful.” I felt as he saw. Powerful silent moment.
You were the initial inspiration for this blog. I wanted to record my travels and discoveries. Perhaps it was a just a way of yelling, “Here I am!” Published in a form that doesn’t set an expectation for a response. The travel blog then morphed into an online technical study journal.

This website no longer serves any of these purposes very well. I require something more minimal and more flexible than WordPress. I dig text files. Ok, I’m getting technical again.

I last spoke to you on the phone, two weeks before you passed. You knew I was happy and living in peace. You didn’t sound so optimistic about your own surroundings. However, I supposed it’s safe to say that you are in a better place now.

No clue what that means exactly…  but I’m guessing it doesn’t include blog posts.


P.S. I saw on your computer that all your recent photos were adjusted using GIMP instead of Photoshop.   I didn’t know you were liking that program!! It made me smile to see all those open-source-created image files on your PC hard drive. Nice one, Mom.