The last time I saw her was October 14. In two months it will be a year and a lifetime ago that I was with her. And yet she's always with me. When I fold laundry, I can hear her chiding me that we have too many clothes. Of course, she's right; I do a ridiculous amount of laundry. When I sew or cook or bake, she's looking over my shoulder, remarking about how I do things just like she did and how I do things so differently than she did. When I'm with my children, I can feel her watching me with the same amount of maternal pride I exude. She often said her greatest joy was her children, and we knew that even when she didn't say it.
|Kermit and me, October 14|
Most nights I don't dream about my mother, but I know she's with me. She's always with me.