This morning was the end of Mom's sheloshim. Thirty days from the funeral gone. Thirteen days since Mom died. Time moved exponentially fast. It wasn't this fast when Daddy died.
We marked the day with a sponsored breakfast. There's not really a significance to the sheloshim for a parent. It ends mourning for other relatives, but mourning continues just the same for a parent. And yet, the day seems significant. I made it. Thirty days down. One month. Only 11 more to go. How many more time will I reach for the phone? How many more times will I think I should tell Mom? How many mores?
Today was also my final trip to the mikveh. Most people don't know which mikveh night is their last mikveh night. After all, menopause isn't official until a full year after your last period. But tonight was about three months following my hysterectomy. Menopause is here. It's interesting. Today was the day the doctor cleared me to go to mikveh.
So as the sun set on my mother's sheloshim, the next stage of my life began. It began as I emerged from the warm mikveh water. I wondered what I was feeling, unable to put it into words. Maybe - melancholy. Maybe - numb. I feel I am on the precipice of something new, but I'm too tired to move, too tired to step forward. What I really want is a week of sleeping late, reading, and binge-watching movies and TV. But that will have to wait. Maybe next year.
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