29 years.

Yesterday marked the 29th year of my Mom's death. She was 40, 3 months short of her 41st birthday. I was 3, a little over a month away from turning 4. I don't remember much of her. What I do remember is blurred with the stories people have told me about her. I'm not sure what are my memories, and what are others memories for me. I miss her. I miss what should have been. I look at The Girl, and realize she is only a few months older than I was, and I can't imagine how I would ever prepare her for losing me. My Dad remarried 158 days after she died. 158 days. He married someone who didn't want anymore kids. Someone who didn't even have kids at home anymore. but, she was supposed to help him raise me, and my youngest older brother. I understand his need for companionship. I understand that my Mom was very sick for a very long time. I have never understood his reasoning behind marrying so quickly. I went through years and years of anger, hatred, and bitterness. I am no longer angry. I have come to realize there is nothing I can do to change my past, and I can choose to let it consume me, or I can choose to move forward. 

I have decided to make as many memories, take as many pictures, go on as many adventures as I can with my babies. I don't ever want them to grow up without me, but I want them to have the best memories possible if that ever happens. I don't want them to rely on others to remember things for them.