To My Mother, With Love

There was a thing about her, an aura if you like. When she smiled her deep, dark eyes twinkled. Her shoulders jerked up and down with every bellow of laughter. She was quick to plant kisses on my forehead and grab me fondly by the cheek. She was soft and her arms jiggled like jelly when she motioned. When she spoke her mind, never was she without kindness and grace. Her full hips swayed from side to side when she planted one foot in front of another. Her mind was set on who she was and I loved watching her.

Behind the twinkle in her eyes was the look of someone who knew life. She had endured heart-wrenching pain and knew numbing loss. She had been cherished and betrayed and knew the intricacies of living with and without.

She was my mother. She still is.

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