Tuesday, March 28, 1944

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March 28th was her last day.  Do you know what that means?  I think you do.

It means, remember where you are now — the bittersweet remnants of coffee on your tongue, the ancient dryness of the hand that you hold – even if, for today, it is only your own.

It means, look up and let the sky absorb you into its clouds and sunrays like Mary rising to her rightful home, because it’s your home, too.  Not heaven, but here — and our belonging.

All my cells say one thing – I love you and you broke my heart.  You love me and I broke your heart.  And if I become human at all, that is the story of how.

Please remember she loved daffodils, like her sister.  She loved arguing and the Ministry of Silly Walks.

And you – she loved you, the way a human being can.

I pray it was a good day, dear.  I miss you and love you, Mom.

 

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