One Year.

A year ago, at 7:30 AM, Central time, my telephoned buzzed across the surface of my desk.

It had been a long morning of paperwork, and as I recall there was a little bit of trouble in Fargo that had to be sorted out. 7:30 AM is the end of my day, as you who read regularly well know; it's a kind of twilight time, brushing off the tension of the night with the prospect of getting a good night's sleep. I have multiple phones on my desk, each with a distinctive, annoying ring; so, it's not a surprise that I keep my personal phone on the desk, but on vibrate.

And there it was, crawling across the desk; stopping. And then starting again, like an annoying inchworm.

My Father was calling. And I knew what that call would entail.

I kept my voice as level as I could; it was news that was expected, but not invited. Surely, I did NOT want to hear what my Father was about to say, but he's a good man, and I love him, so it was important not to come apart when he needed strength.

"Good morning, Dad."

"John, you're Mother passed away twenty minutes ago."

"Okay. Okay. I'll be there tomorrow."

"I'll have you Brother meet you at the airport."

"Okay. Do you need anything?"

"No. I love you, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Click.

We have no trouble with joy; grief just flummoxes us.

My boss was sitting in a chair in the corner. He had the kind of look on his face that lies midway between, "Can I help?" and, "Can I leave?" But he's a good man, and he stayed silent.

I excused myself for a minute, and moved into the conference room, where I unclenched the fist that was my soul. Just a little. Enough to ease the pressure, but enough to dampen my face. Enough to hitch my breath.

I went back into my office, and there were more people there by now; and I simply said that I was leaving now, and that I wouldn't be back in for awhile, and I'd call to tell them when, but right now I need to leave this office or I will surely fall apart like a scarecrow in a windstorm.

And I went home, and had what my Okie friend would call, "a full-fledged come-apart."

My tears were a tribute; and as I write this, I'm crying again. Another tribute to a woman who taught me everything that mattered. Who encouraged my talents, bandaged my youthful wounds, laughed at my jokes, taught me to bake, liked my friends, and loved me beyond the telling of it.

I miss you, Mom.

See ya when I get there.