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I’m a big fan of metaphors. Of course good ones are preferred, but I’m not to o bothered by awkward metaphors or clunky metaphors…they can be charming sometimes.

I’ve settled on the term “seismic” as a quasi-metaphor to describe the death of my mother. Like an earthquake there have been aftershocks, most notably this week. Grief is processed by different people in different ways and on wildly different time tables. As a result you’re sometimes blindsided but we endure.

Every now and again I get panicked that I will somehow forget important things about her. Like, that for most of her life she didn’t like coffee except for with donut sticks and only to dunk the donuts in the coffee, NOT to drink it. Okay, maybe that’s not “important” but I thought about it this week and it made me smile and then slightly panic that maybe nobody else in the world remembers this little thing.