The First Grade Concert.

Again I am at another milestone in my child's life..a happy day..a day of pictures..videos..cheering..laughing... the first grade concert.

There he is on stage with his freshly ironed shirt, his badly mended black pants, his curly hair bouncing freely with a huge smile on his face. I sit alone in the audience of happy parents reserving seats for every grandparent they can invite. I sit alone in the back with no one to share in the reverie. I watch as the mothers smile and wave their mothers over. I sit and watch as they casually take for granted how lucky their children are to have their "nannies, bubbees, abuelas and nonnas" present. I wonder if my son notices.

In a fit of feeling sorry for myself. I feel angry at the fat suburban dad that can't give up his seat for me. These guys that are my age that all seem to be bursting from the seams of their pants and shirts, all wearing the same uniform, Khaki pleated slacks and dry cleaned button down shirts. That dad keeps his seat for his swollen bottom and for his whole family who are non-existent at the present moment. I sit in the back with the outcasts not included in this elite circle of guests. The parents with parents get the front.

My beloved mother died three years ago. I still wake up and wonder everyday "when the hell is she coming back? When will this absence end. ...Okay the jokes over Mom...come home!" We were best friends. We talked every day. My healthy mother was diagnosed and died five years later of ovarian cancer. It took her down fast but not with out the fight of her life. A fight that took her spirit and left nothing but her skin and bones. Then she left us.. with her memory..on Memorial day 05/30/2007.

So I sit watching my seven year old on stage singing at the top of his lungs as if he was singing to her in the blue sky above the walls of the cold gym. He looks up and holds his arms up as if he was preaching to the sky. I smile...when they start to sing I forget about the seats and the grandparents surrounding me. I see my mother in my son. Her bravery, forthrightness and emotionalism.

I have three children. They were young when she died but they still talk about her as if she is still with us but above as if in the clouds, the trees or the wind.

The concert ends and I blow kisses at my little boy as he exits the gym. I slip out the door to avoid the social after party.

I can't seem to get used to the idea that I am parent-less yet and thatI have the responsibility to be a parent and create the memories for my children that I still hold dear. I just assumed she would be here physically to guide me until she grew old. I feel like I am left to feel around in the dark and figure it all out. My anger overcomes me daily.

I am forever grateful that I have a wonderful husband that loves me unconditional..in my depression, sadness and anger. He never judges or tells me how I should behave. I have three beautiful children that cheer me daily. I have a view from my dining room of green mountain hilltops that occasionally are dotted with cows. The view gives me solace daily. This is what saves me from that cold, dark angry world.