I believe that Mother's Day was invented for first time moms so they would have one day where someone would have to look around and see what it is that they do everyday. This is especially important on the first mother's day because the baby doesn't understand that he is supposed to be extra nice and not scream.
For mother's day, I decided that I needed to sort through the ash that was still in tubs from the fire. It has been eight months, and I was having a hard time thinking about looking through the stuff that was "salvaged." And I am proud to report that most of it is now in the trash can. I have mourned the loss of my things for eight months. There is no joy in learning that page 76 of my eleventh grade yearbook is recognizable (albeit burned). I can't read Outlander in that charred, water logged condition. And the quilt I made has burn holes in it (and is wet... STILL). It isn't coming into my new house. I have a few things from the house. Pearls. A letter from my grandfather. A couple of pieces of notes from my mom. Some burned pictures. And I think that's enough. Tokens of a previous life. Memories of a horrible event.
It's time to move on. And letting go of the ash, of the possibility of some lost letter or memory, is a good start.
My life now is different. It is different because of the fire. And it is different because I am a mom. That's what today is about.