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“We cannot see her, but she is with us still. A mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a living presence.”

“My Mother Is Always With Me”
My mother is always with me.

She’s the whisper of the leaves as I walk down the street.
She’s the smell of certain foods I remember,
of flowers I pick, and of soap that she used.
She’s the cool hand on my brow when I’m not well,
she’s my breath in the air on a cold winter’s day.
She’s the sound of the rain that lulls me to sleep,
the colors of a rainbow and autumn leaves,
she is Christmas morning.

My mother lives inside my laughter,
and she’s crystallized in every tear drop.
My mother shows every emotion –
happiness, sadness, fear, jealousy, love, hate, anger, helplessness, excitement, joy, sorrow –
and all the while, hoping and praying
that I will only know the good feelings in life.
She’s the place I came from,
my first home,
and she’s the map I follow with every step I take.

She’s my first love, my first friend, even my first enemy,
and nothing can separate us.

Not time, not space. Not even death.
I carry her inside of me.

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