I saw an extraordinary spider web today. It was at least two feet in diameter, attached from my car to the tree above, a beautiful, delicate net with a tired-looking spider in the middle. (I was going to use the word “gossamer,” but it felt more like an adjective than a noun. Gossamer wings, right? This is exactly the kind of thing I would have asked my mom. She would have known it was primarily a noun.) I was thinking about driving to the metro this morning, but then I didn't want to destroy such a work of art so I took the bus. On the bus I thought of my mom and dad. My dad because he loves stuff like that. He gave me an appreciation of nature in that way, teaching me about how and why things work, often logically (and the beauty in that). My mom? She gave me Charlotte's Web. She gave me metaphor and story and a runaway imagination prompted by characters in books. (Next month marks the 60th anniversary of Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White.) And so I thought of her a lot today with my own little Charlotte out front, and because it's the Jewish New Year, a lovely, warm-hearted time of year for me with all sorts of fond memories of my mom: getting dressed up for services, the warmth of her sitting next to me at Temple, resting with her in her big bed, watching her laugh and chat with friends over dinner with all the comforting smells of good Jewish cooking. Last week I received a wonderful email from my friend Marya in Seattle. She's known me for 25 years. My mom, she wrote, always made her feel as if they had known each other all their lives. Then she continued, and I was so touched by this: “I remember admiring and being a little envious of the bond you and your mother had. There have been a small handful of women in my life who I have thought I might try to ‘model’ my relationship with my own daughter after – it’s silly I know – but your mom, and more specifically your bond with your mom, was so special. You were both very lucky to have each other.” I haven't written about her for a couple of weeks now. Life goes on, right? It has to. My oldest boy went back to school, work suddenly got busy. And, too, I'm talking to my dad each night now and that feels good, like something I need to do. He has what I've been calling "sadness triggers" everywhere because of how entwined their lives were in that house. But me, I can more easily fill my time and mind up with a phenomenally long to-do list and push those triggers to the side. No time to be sad, I have kids and work to do. I thought about putting a photo of my mom up in my office and immediately decided not to, then I felt guilty about that, then I tried to analyze what was going on. Simply put, I’m not ready. It would make me too sad and I can’t go there, particularly not at work. Last night, though, my dad said something that hit home … he realized that she was really gone. I knew what he meant … it wasn’t an intellectual epiphany, it was an emotional one. I think that’s why I was okay letting the sadness triggers come today. The rain stayed away, the quiet felt good, the spider was still there in its web when I got home from work, my family gives great hugs. May the new year bring more quiet, more spider webs, more hugs, much love and peace and smiles to all of us.