I lost my mom a few years back. I used think about her all the time when she first passed. Now it does not cross my mind much or at least that is what I thought.
On my bookcase, prominently placed, is a glass globe filled with white Jersey sand and handpicked seashells from the seashore.
I look at it every day. In times of stress and perplexity I lift the weight in my hand, rolling it gently from one side to another, watching the shells appear and disappear.
I don’t think of my mom on a daily basis anymore, but I do look at the seashells every day.