Today...on this the anniversary of Moma's new birthday, I thought of how she wasn't supposed to have children...how with the rematic fever she so suffered from when she was a child taxed her heart in such a way the doctor advised her not to have children. I thought about if she hadn't been such of a fragile body, hadn't had four children whether she would have lived longer. How different things would be, huh?
I thought about how I must celebrate the life/lives she left behind. I made sure I noticed things throughout the day...the butterflies that danced along the fence line at the dog park as Daisy and Autie enjoyed their doggie adventure...I made certain I held the hand of the man she thought so highly of...I called her Aunt that was like a second mother to her...and I ate ice cream as that was the last thing she ate before she left us.
And at the end of the day, as I am alone, I cannot help but cry...but as I do I can hear the the birds singing...and notice the apples on the tree that have never been so present and recognize the life they represent...and when they are ready for consumption...I will make a pie...and give it away
...as "baking and sharing" was also something Moma wanted to do in her last days.
So, her giving will go on...not just in our hearts.
First I've seen these apples on the 100 Acre Wood
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