2006-01-05 - 10:52 p.m.
When my Grandma died two years ago, one of my younger cousins wrote and recited a poem entitled "I live in you". In it she spoke as my Grandma, telling us not to grieve too much and remember that her presence is still with us. As I walked throughout my home this evening I finally realized how true these words are. My Mother lives in me. My husband and daughter usually go to sleep before I do. That is when I check out our home, making sure dishes are put away, food is in the fridge, doors are locked, windows closed, etc. I remember waking up at odd hours of the night when I was pregnant and hearing my Mom's footsteps down the hallway. I remember thinking (and joking with her about it):"Does this woman ever go to sleep?" Now I get it. A Mother's work is never done. So when I wash my face and examine my skin at night, I remember that my Mom used to do the same thing. When I brainstorm dinner ideas and ask my husband what he'd like, I remember that my Mom did the same for me and my sisters. Physically, my Mom is gone but she endures in me and my siblings. Knowing that she lives in me comforts me and shows me that she is not forgotten
