Pauline Agnes Louise Baulch Champ Campbell 1933 - 1982 Twenty years ago today, the Friday before Thanksgiving, Canadian Thanksgiving, my mother lost her battle with cancer. Looking back, I remember coming home from University that Friday morning, having taken an overnight train, to hear the hollow sound of her raspy breathing echoing through the house. Twenty years has done nothing to dull that memory. While living in the north east, the falling leaves and crispness in the air would always precipitate an almost intangible depression as the anniversary approached. Sadness and tears erupting at inappropriate moments startling loved ones, friend and coworkers. Grief is a wound that never heals. I've found that San Francisco's interminable mono season has inhibited the stealthy approach of my sadness. Without the falling leaves, I'm less likely to slide into tears. It's not that I want to forget, because my mother will forever live in my heart.