Mom, I miss you. If I were with you today, we would wake up and visit the bakery to buy lots of goodies to share with the men at home. You'd be sure to buy danish, and I'd be sure we left with cookies. Then we would be off to the plant store, where we would shop for big, hardy mums, and pretty gourds to decorate your fireplace mantel. If we didn't find what we needed, we'd head to a different plant store instead, and you'd find an orchid, and argue that yes it is seasonal, and needs to go home with us. You'd sneak a candy apple into the cart to give to me later, since that was my childhood favorite. Soon it would be time for lunch, and we would go to Chilis. I'd order the fajitas, and I wouldn't roll my eyes when you'd order the ribs. We'd agree to split the eggrolls but I'd eat more than my share, and you'd let me. At lunch we would talk, and I would listen. And you would listen, but you were always good at that. Afterwards, I'd surprise you and we'd go apple picking, and as we did I would rattle off all the recipes I learned from school and what I could make for you when I returned home. But most importantly, mom, I'd tell you that I love you, and that I always will.
* My mom had a stroke three years ago today. She held on with life support for two more days before letting go. It's taken a good two years for me to accept that she is physically gone. (Above, my mom as a teenager.)