Two weeks ago today, my mother died. It's strange to say it so baldly — without the euphemisms we typically use to make it seem gentler.

The last three weeks have been a blur. We went from the hospital to the hospice. From preparing her home for in-home care to meeting with the funeral home. From a Funeral Mass in one city to burial in another. Then the return to work and back-to-back meetings. Plus the notes and acknowledgments needed after the funeral. Plus the work that landed on my desk while I was out. Plus the need to put my house back in order. (just cleaning the fridge took part of a morning.) Dealing with the estate lies ahead.

But first, I need to find a new rhythm. A rhythm that doesn't include calling Mom each day. Holidays that don't involve decorating her house or baking her favorite cookies or planning her traditional meals.

It's a time of transition — for her and for me.