Mother's Day

When Elizabeth was born, my heart burst open to take her in.  Amazing how this happens to new mothers.  Where there was no one before, suddenly, there was a baby deserving of all of your love and care and future planning.  As she grew she was independent from the beginning, wanting to do things on her own, yet coming back home to the safe embrace of her parents. 

I still have cards that say: Good for three free hugs.

It is an honor to be her mother.

1 comment:

  1. "Good for three free hugs."
    I love this.
    Sending you hopes for peace.


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How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry