My Mom

I am 44.  My Mom died at 48.  In my mind, she will always be young.  As I approach the same numbers that reflect her years on planet earth, her youth seems more reachable to me every day.

I've always said that her death showed me how to live.  She kept nice dishes on display.  I use mine.  She cleaned the house.  I live in mine.  These are not slams.  Bringing those nice dishes out once a year was a beautiful tradition for this little girl.  They were precious treasures treated with the utmost respect.  Cleaning the house gave me a great work ethic.  I have memories of my Mom telling me stories about the trinkets she dusted.  Those memories still linger long after the trinkets have been sold at garage sales. 

Death showed me the importance of living.  I believe my Mom lived ... tried to live ... well.  My greatest tribute to her, as her daughter, is to walk in the footsteps of those principles.  My daughters may or may not use nice dishes ... or keep a good house.  What they will do, Go-willing, is live well.