I was aware of her death because I was present. I rushed to the house as soon as I heard about it, and stood in the living room just a few short paces from the room it happened in. People were crying, and explaining, and I stood there silent. Alone in a room full of people.

As I stood in the living room it occurred to me that the woman that gave me life had stood in the very spot I was in, and hugged my neck goodbye a few days earlier. I had no idea that it would be for the final time. There was something empty and haunting about standing there now. It was as though she were still alive, and in the kitchen about to bring me one of her famous tomato sandwiches.

How was it possible that she could be gone? The thought was larger than my brain could handle and I seemed to go into a shut down of sorts. I walked directly out the front door onto the porch that she so loved. As I looked to my left, there sat the chair that she sat in every evening as she watched the neighborhood wind down for the evening. Her blanket with the little angels playing there horns was still draped across the arm of the chair mocking me as I stood in my own nightmare on Earth.

Trying to escape the fog that was my mind, I walked out into the autumn air and wandered aimlessly. I walked out past the flower bed that she had planted with such care, and heard her warn me from her perch on the porch not to walk through it. Carefully stepping over the flowerbed, I walked further still out to the spot at the road where I would drag her dumpster on Thursday nights when I visited. This day was a Thursday and the irony was not lost on me.

Stepping into the street, I walked out into the night, and into a flood of memories. Standing at the edge of her yard, I turned and looked back at the house. I remember standing with her some ten years earlier as they were building her dream home. I remember telling her that the wait would be worth it. She simply did not understand why building a home took so long. I explained that anything that would be perfect would take time. She found that to be funny. Walking further still, I went down her street and looked around.

The neighbors looked like they always did. The living room lights were on, each with a family sitting there watching television. Life had not stopped for them. It had stopped for me. Everything that I knew was different. My relationship with my Mom was forever changed into one that would have to grow without her.

Just as I finally felt the tears start to come, my wife walked up to my side. She took my hand and pulled me close to her.

After several minutes, I broke down and she simply held me tighter. There in the road, on my Mother's street, I moved to another place in my life.Hand in hand we went back to the house. We walked up the steps, past the chair with the angel blanket, into the living room, and joined those people who had come to pay their respects.

My wife did not let go of my hand for the rest of the evening. In some ways she is still standing in that living room holding my hand, walking me through this experience of living life without the woman that gave me mine. Every year, when that anniversary comes, it hurts like hell. Every time I think of the memories, they ring deeply in my heart and make me cringe. I know it is coming, and yet, I find no comfort, save the hand of my wife.

They say it will get easier, and I know they are right. Though the years have passed, and the memories have faded into images that sometimes blur, her legacy is firmly entrenched in my heart. I still see her clearly when I open my mind's eye. I still hear her calling to me, and warning me to stay out of the flowerbed. I still see her on the front porch wrapped in her angel blanket.

I am still, in some ways, standing in that spot in the living room haunted by the image of her passing away in the next room over.

The difference now is that I hear these things, but not only these things....I now hear her telling me how much she loves me. How proud she is of me. How she looks forward to our meeting down the line. I hear her whisper in my ear just the right things to say when my children act up. I hear her voice when I do something spectacular to make my wife smile a little bigger.

I hear her when I pray to God in heaven that she is alright. She is louder than God sometimes, and I think God lets that happen. God will reach us by any means necessary... for his love is that strong.

I see her in every smile my little girls give, and in all the little nuances that they have acquired from her. She impacted their lives so strongly in her short time with them, much like she did mine.

I do not only live in the fog of her death now.

I live in the beauty of her life.