The presence of her absence is everywhere::
Adjusting to losing her, there is another, unexpected process under way as well. Where once I would not have stopped to notice, now when I look into the mirror, I see my mothers face in mine. I hear the soft, distinctive pace of her footsteps as I climb the stairs, feel the rhythm of her hands as I pick up my knitting at the end of the day. The unmistakable pitch and tone of her laughter rings out and surprises me when children play happily together. Some of her returns, slowly but surely reclaiming a place in our lives.