My clearest memory is my mother’s crescent-shaped blue eyes dancing while we taste freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and sip from cool glasses of milk. I feel her gathering me onto her lap because the boy I loved broke up with me. I hear the mellow dinner bell ringing in the backyard and her voice at twilight calling us to come in for supper. Her love did not overlook. Not one of us. Not once.
Tag: Mom
Mom’s Gift: Taking a Nature Pause in Early Morning
In recent years, I relearned a lesson from my mother: there’s beauty in common scenes unfolding before you if you stop to see them. When I lived in Atlanta, walking along the Chattahoochee River offered this daily gift and the chance to turn passing moments into poetry.
35 years later, still grateful for this heirloom memory
Holidays are not easy when family dynamics change or there’s an empty place at the table. After preparing and serving the feast for the first time without her mother, Mom processed her grief by penning this reminiscence of the traditions they shared.