Hi, Mom,



You've been gone for several years now, but you have never ceased to inspire me. I'm well into my sixties Mom, can you believe that? I had some health issues I wasn't going to tell you about, but I think you knew, as I felt you at my bedside. Yes, yes, I'm fine, Mom. I appreciate your checking in. I have to tell you, it took me years to recognize the subtle ways you had inspired me to continue writing, but when I did, I appreciated and loved you that much more, if that were at all possible. The other day I found an old piece I wrote. I never did get to show you. I hope you like it:


I remember glancing around my room at my paneled walls

deep in thought of my next written word.

I, frustrated and rocking in a fetal

ball upon my bed.



The whiffs of pencil lead

inspiring me

The brushing away of eraser crumbs

distracting me.



With a sore indentation

forming on my index finger

I shook my hand and

finished.



Excited, I hurried across the hallway to your room,

and crawled beneath the covers

beside you.

"I wrote something else for you" I said.



Your eyes sparkled and

an even smile

settled on your face as you read.

You took a tissue and wiped your eyes.


Then,

You patted your cheeks,

looked at me lovingly,

and in your own endearing way, you laughed at yourself for crying.