Today marks seven years since my mother died. Seven. There was a time I thought it impossible to get to one. Seven years without her voice, without a cuddle on the couch, without arguing over politics, without hearing her exasperated scoff in my direction, without the smile that made my whole body feel warm and safe. The night she died I slipped away from anything like light. I have never perceived a darkness so all-consuming. Part of it was that I had some expectation of how her death was supposed to go. Soft and gentle. Peacefully embracing Jesus. I had heard enough stories about dying people suddenly opening their eyes…