Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. And tomorrow marks one and a half years since Jess died. Yes, died. She didn’t leave or pass away or move on. She died. If you don’t say the word, you don’t have to accept the truth, it doesn’t have to be real. That’s why we use all the other softer terms, so as not to cause more pain about the reality or finality of the act.

There’s something stuck in my gut. It feels like a bad case of indigestion. Or a knife. I’ve been talking to myself this evening, telling myself it’s just another marker, another number. It doesn’t really mean anything. I shouldn’t feel any worse. If anything, I should be relieved. I’m halfway to the three-year mark, the time it took me to think about my father without crying after he died. Yes, it’s a blessing–if you believe in such things (I don’t think I do right now)–to be further away from the event, from the phone call, the hearing of the words, “Jessica’s dead,” like the sound of a guillotine blade before it makes its slice. I’m grateful to be this far.

I think I’m getting more used to my new life, the new me. I’m not as often shocked by the thought of my daughter being gone. Only now and then does the reality come at me like I’ve never experienced it before. I remember waking every morning without the heart-knowledge of my loss and having to re-experience the shock and horror anew at the beginning of each new day. I’m not sure if I’m improving or if the numbness is just more absolute.

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But tomorrow is Mother’s Day. And I’m still the mother of two daughters. And I still have one very brilliant, fantastic, wonderful, gorgeous child who is the delight of my heart. And tomorrow, she and I will spend the day together cooking breakfast, sitting by the pool, drinking mimosas and enjoying each other’s company. When asked what I wanted to do, I had originally said let’s go to brunch and then for a hike. But this morning, when I really thought about what I WANTED, I realized that I very simply want to spend time with my girls, and knowing that I couldn’t be with both of them, that just relaxing with Sarah and enjoying her presence was all I need or want. And so tomorrow, I will with full knowledge of what I have enjoy time with Sarah just being in the moment and loving.

For all my women friends who have lost children, happy Mother’s Day! No matter what, we are all still mothers. If your child isn’t here to share the day with you, please honor yourself for them. They would never have had the chance to live–for however long they had–if it hadn’t been for us, their mothers, and within our hearts they will always be alive.