yesterday was....

the memory day for my family.
I've talked about this before
(here and here),
and now don't have many words that I want to say or express.
A softness and quietness;
not peace,
but
not anger.
An accepting, understanding.

Some tiny inner stillness
that I know she still exists in. But I feel
that I know she isn't in my daily life
the way she used to be.

I do see her in my daughter,
and in my siblings.
And stop and smile
when I look at photos
- above my sewing table, or in my bedroom.

And only a few weeks ago my aunt told me
that I looked so so much
like my mother.
A wonderful thing to hear,
to be told. A wonderful thing
to look in the mirror
and
look for her in my features.

So, on this anniversary
I cannot talk
about my feelings or thoughts
about
my
mother.
I cannot say words of deepness
to my family,
or express that
deepness
they may be needing to hear from me.

But when I sit,
I look up and see the smiling face
of my mother, and the way
she looks
at my father
in the photo
I love so much.
I delve
deeper
into my mind,
my head,
my soul.

And there, somewhere, is a sort of peace.