Her Story


Her story ended 5 years ago tomorrow. Or did it?

I can still smell it, the aroma of it, in a Sunday pot roast slow cooking on my counter and also in the domestic union of fabric meeting hot metal as I iron a favorite linen shirt.

I can still feel it, the warmth of it, in a quilt the colors of spring, lovingly sewn by arthritic hands and also in the sunshine- like memories that my heart recalls.

I can still hear it, the playlist of it, when once youthfully ignored lessons emerge in my own mother voice and also in the beckoning ocean as she welcomes me home.

I can still taste it, the flavor of it, sliding from spoon to throat, as I spread Virginia apple butter on a sandwich of cheesy grilled comfort and also in the salty air that tingles my tongue.

I can still see it, the purity of it, in my grandchildren’s eyes as they fall in love with animals and life and also in the goddess smiles of women as they birth brand new hopes.

Her benign spirit departed its malignant body 5 years ago tomorrow but her story didn’t end.

It lives on in the auspicious cells of her children, her grands, and her greats and in all of those souls touched by the goodness of her heart.

Her life here ended 5 years ago tomorrow. But her story did not.

CRR

7-1-16

In loving memory of my mother ❤

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This entry was posted in cancer, death, familial bonds, grief, life, love, Mothers, poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Her Story

  1. hannahkozak says:

    Thank you for sharing a piece of your heart.

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