I’ve started three other posts over the last week, confident in my decision not to take this sappy Mother’s Day excuse to write yet another essay about my Mom, how much I miss her, how I see her everywhere.
Yellow roses on the table where we took Dad for brunch. The gorgeous feather bracelet, now on my wrist, a Mother’s Day gift from my extraordinary sister-in-law, Kathy. (She insisted Mom wanted me to have it.) Mom’s bathrobe RIGHT THERE when I opened the closet door, in my room at the Florida Big House.
I am where I’ve always been, she said in the dream, where I’ll always be.
I am always here.
I know, Mom. I know it for sure.
Happy Mother’s Day.