|Me and my Mother, England, 1949|
It seems strange, this year, not to order the flowers that I ordered every year for you on Mother's Day; not to have sent you a card; not to phone you. I miss you in ways you can't imagine. I miss getting your funny writings every month or so. I miss the love and caring you gave me for many years, even though it was missing the last two years of your life. I miss visiting you at your cozy home, the familiar furnishings, the predictably awful food, the endless cups of tea, and the hugs we shared.
Be at peace.