It's been nearly 20 years
since she's been gone,
my Mom.  I see her only
in faded memory and in
photographs, a little bit

of her when I look in the
mirror.  So beautiful, with
brunette hair and brown
eyes; when I smell L'Air
du Temps, I think of her,

because that's what she
wore.  She liked to clean
and cook; too bad I didn't
take after her.  I miss her.
Fifty nine too young to die.

It will be two years this
May since Daddy died.
I see a tiny bit of him in
the mirror, still hear his
voice, remember his

stories.  Six foot tall and
full of laughter, my big,
strong Daddy:  my hero,
who served his Nation,
him, and his four brothers

-- hard worker, providing
for his family.  Stubborn at
times:  got that from him.
When he died, it upended
my world.  What hurts the

most:  I didn't get to say
goodbye.  Sometimes a
little girl still needs her
Mommy and Daddy, to hold
her, to love her, to guide her.

(c) 2010, Karla Dorman (2/28)