Sense of awareness

I was taught in a seminar one time about how our bodies and minds have a strange way of knowing when the "anniversary" of an event that made an impact on your life has occured. You may not remember the day or even the month this "thing" happened, but for some reason you are all of a sudden thinking about it or talking about it and sometimes you come to realize that it was during this time on this day a year or two or ten ago that your mind captured an event and never let it go.
For some reason, I have been thinking about my old English professor. I don't remember her name. I remember what she looked like. I remember I had her for a first year English course at MUN. I remember she had shared with us that her mother was dying.
It was during that course we started talking about the book The Velveteen Rabbit. I don't remember what we were discussing but the next class one of the girls brought her copy of the book to class. And like we were in 3rd grade again, the professor took the book and started reading it to us:

"What is REAL asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and are very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Once my professor got to the part about your hair being loved off and your eyes dropping out, she started to cry and said she was crying because all those things were happening to her mother.
Finally, on a Monday morning she didn't show up for class. That Wednesday, she returned and apologized for not being there because her mother had died over the weekend. I slipped a card under her door later that evening to let her know somebody without a name was praying for her family.
Perhaps the reason I am thinking about her these past few days is because the anniversary of her mother's death is approaching or has already passed. Perhaps she is thinking about her mom and for some reason I am thinking about her.
You just never know.