I realized the other day that the grief I feel about my mom is going to be kind of...ever-present. Not in a depressing kind of always there sort of way, but in a someone just threw a wet blanket on my face kind of way.

My boss's mother-in-law just died. Personally, we're pretty close so I said "How's Joe doing?" and she and I talked about her husband for a while. Well, I told her that if her husband wanted to talk about it or anything, to give me a call. Not that I'm a psychologist or anything, but I figured it would be nice for him to share with someone who knows something about it.

Then it hit me.

How were we to understand eachothers' loss? His mother was...god knows, eighty...when she died. My mother was his age when she died.

Then it hit me again.

Mom was a big quilter for the last couple years, and she made quilts for her sisters and some newborn family members. When she died, she was still in the process of making one for her 30-year-old goddaughter. Dad and I took the in-process work and the remaining materials to a local quilters' guild and they were able to finish the thing as she would have. I saw the finished product last week before it was mailed off and realized that my kids are never going to have a quilt that was handmade by their Grandmother. Quilting is something my mom learned through my Dad's mother, and it's a true craft. People pay big money for handmade, one-off quilts; and I've got one made by my Grandma that's been on my bed ever night since the day I recieved it. My kids won't have that. Or scarves, or afghans, or sundresses, or any of the other shit Mom used to make.

It's a real pain in the ass. I would've gotten a real kick out of seeing my kids get their own quilts from their own Grandma. And I know Mom would've gotten a kick out of making some for them.

And fuckall if I'm going to take up quilting!