This Thanksgiving was the tenth anniversary of my mother's death. I willed myself not to think of it all day. We had a very lazy day, Martin, and Mia, and me. We slopped around in our pjyamas all day and ate late. It was nice, food was good, I made it through.
Martin commented to me the other day, and others have as well, that I've sounded very down lately, very blue. Really, I'm okay. I've been very introspective lately, but I'm taking my crazy pills, and this is always a bad time of the year for me. I'm fine, though.
Sometimes I feel guilty that I never got my parents a gravestone. My father wanted an elaborate stone with praying hands at both sides. My father, who set foot in church about 8 times during my life, and those for weddings and funerals.
My mom never expressed any desire for any type of marker. I'm pretty sure she's buried next to my late Uncle Arnold, which probably would have made both my mom and Uncle Arnold fairly unhappy. I don't remember the two of them ever exchanging any sort of words.
I don't feel any need to have an elaborate gravesite for my parents, or a need to visit said gravesite. My Mom and Dad are, like Rod Stewart says, "In my heart, in my soul." I wear my Dad's wedding band, which he rarely wore, and my mom's anniversary ring. I feel their love for me all the time.
Meloncoly, but not depressed.