Today is the anniversary of my mom’s passing and after 16 years, you’d think it’d get easier. As I reach life milestones though (getting married, buying a home, completing grad school, having a baby girl), it feels like a fresh wave a grief knocks me down and keeps me there. This has been especially true this past year, as I’ve had to navigate being a new mom with no guidance or direction from the most maternal, loving, and nurturing woman I’ve ever known (I may be a little biased). And for 16 years, I feel like I’ve been walking around like that little bird in P.D. Eastman’s book, “Are You My Mother?” Except I’ve been looking for some kind of fill-in; someone who will take me in and treat me as their own and give me that unconditional love that I’ve longed for since my mother’s passing. If a woman was especially nice to me in a store or if I met a sweet neighbor, a little voice inside asks, can you be my mother? A sort of surrogate mom. But I’ve yet to meet her. Or maybe my tender heart just won’t allow it. I guess the only thing I can do at this point is give all the love and comfort and safety to my daughter. And maybe that will be enough.