Grave thoughts

Today I laid pink carnations at my mum's grave.
Today, at this time, three years ago, she died.
The missingness never really passes
It just settles in gently.
But it grabs me by the heart at odd times:
When I smell her perfume
Hear one of her old jokes
See an old lady sitting alone in a café
Visit a hospital.
Or have an instant of forgetting when I think I should phone her.
My mum.

This shot is of a weeping silver birch at the cemetery and I've soft focused it because it gives the effect of a misty veil of tears.