One never knows when grief can attack. You hold in your feelings while adrenalin anesthetizes you through times of trouble. Then one day clarity smacks you in the face, and announces, hey you there in the black your Mom is dead .Yes the one who created you is no longer here to validate your existence. Well screw you clarity of death I did not need your announcement and nor did my Mother. The way we grieve is so varied that anyone that tries to explain the steps of transition including, anger, sadness, guilt or whatever the next wave of emotions is, sounds trivial and callous. The sting does not go away until well, never it never goes away. From the prior paragraph you could summarize that it is anger that I am steeped in. Not the case. I am not angry at my Mom for dying. I am curiosity stricken at everyone examining my acceptance of it. Trying to accelerate me into previously mentioned emotions. My Mom was ready to go, not ready to die. She knew she would be graduating to a higher form and in all our discussions prior to her graduation we had affirmations in place so that I and she would know when she made it to her next level. She made it! So I am happy for her. I am sad that everyone wants to talk about her deterioration and not her spectacular life. I am pissed off that death sometimes brings out the worst in those left behind. As I go through her personal belongings I can see that the things that had the most value to her would be useless to anyone else. Do I care if things are doled out in birth orderly increments? Absolutely not. I would rather not go through her history trying to assign a value to items long forgotten. I do love her more after finding a lock of my baby hair with ribbon attached right next to my first kindergarten masterpiece. There in a pillow case was my favorite Teddy Bear with the mouth drawn on in her famous Peone Pink lipstick. Priceless. Mama knew of my fascination with the paranormal and she entertained my theories because my Grandmother was also a Mystic. I did not get my great lessons of the afterlife at any notably haunted location. I got my confirmations in little personal moments that defy explanation. So which is it, do we desire or require the great messages so badly that spirits allow them to happen ? Or, does death cause a hyper-awareness adrenalin included to self- provide comfort? Why do I notice my similarities to her in a new light ? Simply when you choose to reflect, your reflection changes, even in the mirror. I now see a woman whose core grief has done its job and a celebration has to begin to be thankful for life. So rest Mama rest.