Today marks four years since my mother died. I’d planned to spend it cooking and writing, alone in my house. Oh, and did I mention moping?

My writing buddies had other plans.

I still cooked – matzo ball soup and home-baked challah, since it’s the Jewish holidays and these were my mom’s favorite comfort foods – but I wasn’t alone.

“Make me a pot of coffee and I’ll vacuum your place,” Pam said, after I protested I couldn’t have guests because of the cat fur tumbleweeds.

“I’ll bring chocolate and snacks,” said Rebecca, and boy did she ever. (Trader Joe’s has the best EVERYTHING, and I’m pretty sure she emptied the shelves.)

And before I knew it, the glum, grim day I’d expected turned into a party of dough punching, chocolate-almond munching, and writing at the kitchen table with some of my very favorite Santa Fe friends. A day of sorrow turned into one of gratitude, and laughs, and productivity. A day that reminds me life goes on, and brings with it unexpected joys.

I get by with a little help from my friends.