My mother was like the sky in my favorite picture book. She
was the crystalline blue that cushioned the pink-ribbon horizon that wrapped aound the happy ending on the last page.
My mother would read the words and I would turn the page.
Everything I needed to know I learned when she read to me.
She was the silly rhyme that taught me not everything had to
make sense or follow rules. Sometimes it was all about the smile.
She was the fun found in slowing down and taking the time to simply see Spot run.
She was the safe place where only the things you want to
happen, happen … and where someone loves you best of all. She was the magic that allowed me to fly.
She was the looking glass that revealed a world where no one
was considered strange, weird or crazy just because his reality was different
than mine.
She was the glittering script spun by the tiniest of
creatures that spelled out the enormous value of a good friend.
She was the hidden garden where the sun shone on the rain
and the rain fell on the sunshine … and where the most ordinary of birds could uncover the key to unlock the door.She was the one-two-three-kick that proved you are perfect in your own skin, no matter how saggy or baggy it might be.
She was page after page of charming illustrations that made me want to live on a farm and eat my vegetables.
She was the good that triumphed over evil … every time.
She was the golden light that flickered inside the cozy little
house that survived the long winter. You just needed hard work, faith and Pa’s fiddle.
She was the verse that promised Someone loved me even more than
she did.
She was braver than she knew, stronger than she seemed and
smarter than she thought.
She was the story I never wanted to end.
