"Adults should not weep, I knew. They did not have mothers who would comfort them."

- Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Dear Ma,

It's probably always been weird that I write you letters, but now that we've scattered your ashes, it even seems a little weird to me. (I don't know why that changes things, but it does.) Still, I can't help that writing is how I process things (always has been) -- sometimes I don't even know what I think or feel until I sit down and words start appearing. I've been finding myself composing letters to you in my head all week, so I guess this is something I still need to do. (It's hard to talk to someone pretty much every day of your life and then never have a chance to talk to them again, ever.)

I saw a falling star for the first time last night while I was driving home from practice. It was beautiful and bright and gone so, so quickly. Which, of course, made me think about you and life and this ongoing attempt at working on love.

My friend Emer has started a blog that's supposed to be about gratitude, and she invited me to post (I've already written two!). She says I've taught her a lot about how to celebrate the daily awesome. I had a lot of awesome to celebrate yesterday. It started with a text from Daniel encouraging me to keep going with the books I'm working on, telling me he was proud of me. At lunch, I came home to find a thank you note from a stranger. We'd both ordered some cards from a company and they accidentally sent me her order the same day they sent mine. So, I mailed her stuff to her. She thanked me and sent me cash to cover the cost of postage. She said my actions were heart-warming. (I thought her note was!) After work, I stopped by Staples to print a copy of Only Now to give to Curve, who had offered to be one of my beta readers. She says having a hard copy will be easier for her, and that she'll even be able to read it this weekend. The guy at Staples was friendly (if a little overly chatty) and it was pretty neat to hold a copy of the manuscript in my hands for the first time. Practice was good, and then there was the falling star on the way home.

There's been plenty of awesome to celebrate today -- the cold that's been lurking in the background the last couple of days seems to have passed me by without ever making me really sick and right now it's raining and I don't have a headache! (Not to mention it's Halloween, so we had lots and lots and lots of snacks at work....)

Tomorrow is November 1. I did a variation of NaNoWriMo for three years in a row where I focused on daily writing and didn't pay any attention to word counts (that's what kicked off my 240 consecutive days of writing that ended in June). I didn't want to start writing something new this year -- not until I've gone through Now What? So, I figured I'd make it NaNoEdMo this year (National Novel Editing Month).

But then a friend from derby mentioned daily blogging, and I realized that that was a way to still incorporate daily writing into my November. So, in honor of Thanksgiving and Emer's idea of celebrating the everyday awesome, I'm setting out to write a celebratory blog every day in November.

I think sometimes we miss opportunities for happiness because we just aren't looking for them. This will be a good way for me to keep my eyes open.

The not-so-secret thing behind all of this? It's all part of me trying to be someone you'd be proud to call your daughter. It's part of me trying to live my life as fully as I can, to make up for all the time you didn't get to have, all the things that held you back while you were here. It's part of me trying to feel whole after losing you.

I may not be able to talk to you every day (but maybe these daily blogs will feel kind of like that...), but it still amazes me how much you shape me and my actions on a daily basis. Even now, four years after you died.

I miss you so much.

Love, Tara