To not speak of death is to not speak of life. I do not write of these things in sadness, I write all in gladness for what is, what was, and what will be...
This is my first year away from Emma, Mathew and Lily. I'll miss them too...I remember my favorite Mother's Day with all of them. Breakfast in bed, smeared blackened toast with jelly accompanied by coffee and juice. I remember how proud they were to serve it, though possibly sending in the smallest waitress as they wondered if I'd mind the burnt offerings. She was all giggly and sly, looking back towards her accomplices hideaway. The other three, just outside the door- giggling too, perhaps wondering if I'd kill the joy of the messenger. I remember smiling, oh the sweetness of that moment lingers still, miss Lils got a big hug and then they all surfaced from behind the door to join in the wrestling, hugging match. Lunch was charred pork steaks, glossy black. Oh my, the memories I keep- laughing at this moment in the remembrance.
I have to add that I am shameless...I called each child, still my babies, always my babies- on Monday to remind them that Sunday is Mother's Day. "We KNOW!!!" they answered. I hope they know, I hope I always convey- how wonderful, how good how utterly right it is to be their mom. I feel like sending them cards- no greater joy have I known that makes up the better part of me, than of being a mom to my children. To my Beau- I send prayers and on Sunday, as always- rain or shine...a kite will go up, as if I can still hold his hand by guiding the string.