Today is the day every year that is toughest for me. It marks the anniversary of my mom's death. It's been fours years and I still want to pick up the phone and call her all of the time. I think about her when I'm driving home from work and see a pretty sunset or remember the stories she used to tell me about violets being thrones for fairies and moss being the grand capreting for their homes. I used to lay under trees on my belly and imagine their lives and wish a fairy would happen along that second. I made houses for them out of moss and bark. I remember riding home from grandpas house in the dark and she would look at the strings of headlights and tailights of cars and mumble "rubies and pearls" to herself to enjoy the traffic instead being irritated to sit in it. She encouraged me to play in the dirt and was always thrilled at whatever I brought home-alive or dead. She always had a story about what I found, sometimes she'd come with me. Or bring some scary bug in the house to show us.
I want to curl up in my warm blankets today and dream the day away. I hope the children can make me happy today with their warm smiling faces. I love you, mama. I hope you're watching over me today. My eyes are staying damp on their own.
