for mom
There shoulda been a party last weekend. There shoulda been beer and barbeque and friends and relatives all hanging out and having a good time in the hot, hot sun. My mom shoulda turned 62.
She didn't, of course. She didn't even get to sixty, or as her t-shirt would call it, "eighteen with forty-two years experience." And all her friends and relatives are scattered across the province now, so there was no memorial gathering full of beer, barbeque, and slightly sombre times.
Hopefully, though, there were thoughts and prayers and fond memories recalled by her nearest and dearest. I can practically see her final resting spot from my bedroom window--so rarely a day goes by that I don't think of her. Granted, they're not all positive thoughts--but they're thoughts nonetheless, little reminders of the impact she made on my life. I wonder if anyone else out there thinks the same.
She didn't, of course. She didn't even get to sixty, or as her t-shirt would call it, "eighteen with forty-two years experience." And all her friends and relatives are scattered across the province now, so there was no memorial gathering full of beer, barbeque, and slightly sombre times.
Hopefully, though, there were thoughts and prayers and fond memories recalled by her nearest and dearest. I can practically see her final resting spot from my bedroom window--so rarely a day goes by that I don't think of her. Granted, they're not all positive thoughts--but they're thoughts nonetheless, little reminders of the impact she made on my life. I wonder if anyone else out there thinks the same.