Summer 1984 - you will find I am willing to post embarrassing pictures of myself when it comes to the memory of my mother. The shroud of vanity is lifted in her honor.
Today was a quiet day for you.
Not so much for Gram and I. The culimination of the 4 months prior were wearing on both of us. Things were said that have since been forgiven, but at the time were necessary for both of us.
She was losing her child - something a parent should never have to do.
I was losing my mother - something I was only allowed to have for 30 short years.
I wanted more.
I wanted you with me at my wedding.
I wanted you to hold my hand as I gave birth for the third time - because that is what you did.
I wanted you to know your grandchildren.
I wanted you to grow old - not die at 54.
I became very protective of my daughter role, and felt it necessary to remind people that their loss was important, but that they would never understand the magnitude of my loss. None of them had lost their mother.
I still protect that. It is sacred to me.