I was talking to an old friend who lost her mom around the same time and we agreed it feels more like five years. Not like yesterday or last week anymore, like it did for the first couple years, and not even one year, because a lot of details have faded.
But twenty years just seems so impossibly long ago. A lot of memories are hazy, but too many are still pretty fresh. Like my brother calling me just as I arrived home to tell me our mom had died. I remember he said she'd "passed." Though we knew it was coming, I was still confused by the phrasing for the first few seconds. "Passed" what?
The most tragic thing about my mom's life—and there were many tragedies—was that she never really felt good enough. She never felt pretty or smart and for that I blame my grandmother, the she-beast.