It has been over three years since I have written a blog post. The last was thoughts on Nate leaving for school in Korea.

But this blog was originally a place for me to process what was happening with my Mom’s decline into Dementia. That process took a short time to completely change her, and a decade to take her completely.

Now, so many more are going through this, including my husband as he walks the process with his Dad. Over the last thirty years we have had someone within our family with Dementia. My grandfather, my aunt, my uncle. My Mother. Steve’s Dad.

It is relentless.

But today, on the fourth anniversary of Mom’s death I was struck by something completely different as I thought about her, about the journey over the last fifteen years, and about how many times I’ve wished she had been here for something….today I realized I will never have a new picture of my Mom.

When I’ve written here or on Instagram or Facebook about my kids or about life, I always try to pull up new photos. I like seeing the changes. And I’ve often tried to find photos I have not used before of Mom when I’ve recognized her birthday, or the anniversary of her going home.

There are no “new” photos. There are just the treasured ones, that hold more value now that there will not be another. There are the photos that now hold more weight because they contain the memories that will not be repeated.

There are no new photos, there are just anniversaries now, and pauses in the busyness of life to remember and to pull up the images that are stored. To remember Janie Louder Mossman. To remember the presence, the force that she was, an the fact that I carry her now, and because I remember, she is not gone.

Buechner:

WHEN YOU REMEMBER me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.

For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost.

She is not lost. But she sure is missed. I just thought I’d come back to this place and say again that she is remembered, on this anniversary.