It’s that time of year again.

Sunday, February 3, around 5:30 am, I’ll be preparing to run the Surf City half marathon.  I’ll also be thinking about my mom, who passed away 24 years ago around that time, on February 3, 1995.

Yesterday, I was driving in the car to work, heard a song and started crying.

This morning, I woke up and felt a strange mix of sadness and anxiety. I turned to my husband and acknowledged what we both know.

It’s that time of year again.

This year, the anniversary of my mother’s death is perhaps made more poignant by my journey to reclaim some of my cultural identity through learning my heritage language and beginning a Chinese studies degree.  It stands out as more real because I requested for my 40th birthday that people tell me stories and memories of my mom which brought her home for me in a different way.  It is perhaps more painful because I am not choosing to bury my pain, but instead, seeking to bring light to so many invisible stories, my own and those of others.

So, if you see me (IRL) in the next few days, I will be however I am because grief ebbs and flows, even grief of loss that happened 24 years ago, but know that however I am, I am carrying an invisible weight in my soul that is present with me every day, but more present at this time of year.  Some years it is easier than others.  This year, apparently, is not one of those years, even though I am the most joyful I have ever been in my life.  But that’s okay.

Here’s what I know helps me: 1) Being loved; 2) Getting things done that need to get done (but not too many extra things); 3) Space to grieve; 4) Writing; 5) Crying (sometimes); 6) Good thoughts, prayers and the nod of understanding from those that also know how deeply sudden loss can hurt, even many years later.

So, this is it for now. Time to sigh and pay my monthly bills and head to a full day of work and class.  Thanks for being with me through this time of year.