You'll have to forgive my diminishing posting frequency. I think my body is becoming less "in shock" and I'm starting to get that this is permanent. It gets harder and harder for me to think about and sometimes I even avoid thinking about it altogether.

I replay that day in my head, only to get upset that I wasn't there to help or angry that I have always been so nice to everyone when obviously there are people whose feelings I should not have been so careful with. I should have made more of an effort to keep them away from my family.

And then I think about the few months before that day. I would go running and my mom would call me and insist that I tell her when I was going so she could drive up to Bountiful to go with me. I would tell her that it was a ridiculous idea to drive half an hour to my house just to go running for an hour and then drive half an hour back home. She didn't care. She just wanted to be with me. She would do anything. I never told her when I went.

She would call me and want me to tell her when my husband's basketball games were so she could go. He plays three times a week, sometimes more. There are so many, I don't even go to all of them. I decided that they were such a casual thing and happened all the time so I should just tell her about the championship games. I never knew which ones were championships, so I never told her.

I've always had this attitude where I have to do everything myself. I hate having help and I didn't think I needed it, ever. I have always had my mother standing ready whenever I needed anything. I never thought I needed that support and now I don't know what to do without it.

Moms are supposed to be the ones to make you feel better when you're upset and that comfort has been taken away from me and my brothers and sisters.

I go about my day feeling like a kid lost in the mall, because the only thought in my head is, "I want my mom."

I'm tired of being sad and tired of being angry.

When I'd go home, she always tried to cuddle up to one of us on the couch and she would get her way no matter how much we squirmed and struggled. She would grab my hands and tell me how small my fingers used to be and that they're short and pudgy like my dad's. Then she would tell me about the day I was born. It was on Thanksgiving and my uncle was burning the turkey and the cat was locked in the garage, which was filling up with smoke from the kitchen. Poor cat. They eventually found her and let her out.

A week before she was taken away, she left a message on my voice mail. "Hi honey, I just wanted to tell you that I love you. Give me a call. Bye."

I erased it because I knew there would just be another one the next week.