Mama

the {real} me

My mother was exceptional. Unlike most teenage girls, I just wanted her with me all the time. When I was feeling awkward or insecure, Mama fixed it. Sometimes I even wondered if my friends liked me because she was so cool. (I never did ask about that and don’t plan to…) I’m over at Allume today talking…

where there is hope

where there is hope

It’s my father’s voice when I answer. His resigned tones that shudder over the phone line. Words that I have never heard before are read from a medical report. Two words that I know well scream from the shuffled pages. Cancer. Invasive. How dare cancer invade my mother’s body? I would do anything- crawl inside her and…

for {my} mama

for {my} mama

One of my earliest memories is lying in my mother’s lap, looking up at her face and thinking that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I still think so. She has perfect skin. I, unfortunately, didn’t inherit it (thanks, dad) but I always marveled at the softness. And Mama sang. Nothing was…

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