February 13, 2019
My mother is like most mothers: a worrywart, overreactive, will cook meals and fuss over a person even if already in her pajamas, will find her children in a crowd of hundreds -- as easy as 1, 2, 3. She is balm and she stings. Some days I long for her too much I have to steady myself and hold a hand over my chest. She's been away for too long. As that Tennis song goes: "She works hard, Does it all without complainin', She believes, That sacred things don't need explainin', And the mind is elevated, Though the body, devastated."