Tomorrow will mark 6 years of missing her unconditional love.
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…
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