Two years, but who's counting

Today is the anniversary of my mother's death. It seems like an odd thing to refer to as an anniversary which to me conjures up happiness and celebrating, but it fits the definition. When I got the call that my father was dead, and when I had finished screaming and sobbing like a lunatic, the first thing I remember asking, and frantically, was "what is today's date". It was like I knew it was something important that I needed to mentally jot down. But as the years passed I didn't always remember on that very day and that came with it horror, regret, and guilt. How could I not remember that today was the day? 

This year I started remembering the date early as if someone were keeping score on whether I was a good daughter or not. I got so caught up in remembering the 25th that I forgot my wedding anniversary two days prior; something that is a happy celebration. Then the actual day arrived and it wasn't until I was halfway through the day that I remembered. Bam! Oh, no! I had forgotten after all of this preparation? How could that even be? What was wrong with me? And then it hit me. Nothing. 

It's a number, but it doesn't make me less of a daughter if I forget or don't remember. I spend a good part of my week thinking of my mother and father. Each time I look in the mirror or see my brother they come to mind. I have so much of both of them inside of who I am as a person that it is virtual impossible to forget them. Some days I would like to. I've got maybe too much of some of the wrong sides, as well as the good. (Insert emoji with a tongue sticking out) I use to discuss my dad with my children on the anniversary of his death, telling them stories and making them laugh. I thought it a nice tribute to him, but eventually that petered off. Now I realize I tell them stories about him in our daily life. I'm constantly saying, "putting an asshole on a hobby horse" when someone asks me what I'm doing when they can clearly see for themselves what I'm doing. I'm always telling Tom what my dad would be doing on a repair job. Now I find that my mother is creeping into those little bits of daily life too. "Just throw in what you think and stop worrying about measuring!" 

The other day at the library I saw that an author we both read had a new book. I was stunned. How was that possible? She had just written one. My mom had read it before she died. And there, right there, I thought it's been two years already that's how. I was with my little elementary charge, and so I told her that and then told her a story about my mom and reading. Who needs an anniversary? My parents are with me always, and remembering them doesn't need a date.