My Mom died when I was 4 years old. She lives on in me through Spirit, and I love the conversations that I have with her now.
She comes to me with her 60’s cat-eye glasses, brown curly hair, and with a full smile that beams of love for me. We drink lemonade on her porch as she lights an occasional cigarette, and we talk about life and dreams and hopes. She has planted a rosebush for me in her garden, and the sweet earthiness gets delivered on the breeze as I close my eyes to drink in the scent.
Whether your Mom is with you now or in Spirit, whether you have a good relationship with her or not, her essence lives in you always.
Your Mother is always with you. She’s the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street, she’s the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick, the fragrance of life itself.
She’s the cool hand on your brow when you’re not feeling well, she’s your breath in the air on a cold winter’s day. She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the colors of a rainbow. Your mother lives inside your laughter.
She’s the place you came from, your first home, and she’s the map you follow with every step you take. She’s your first love, your first friend, even your first enemy, but nothing on earth can separate you. Not time, not space, not even death.