In memory of my Mom, who died on March 17, 1990. I miss you, Mom.
She loved red carnations...
I want to remember how you looked the last time I saw you: vibrant; strong; beautiful. I want to remember the lingering scent of your perfume: L'Air d'Temps. I want to remember the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed: you were fun. I want to remember the demonstration of love in deeds, not just words. I want to remember the courage you showed fighting illness: every day. I want to remember ... it was sixteen years ago you died ... I miss you. I am afraid that I will forget ...
I have read this more than once since you first posted it and I always come away deeply moved by the expressive lovingness in these lines. But I also find myself with the deep feeling that the best of the one honored in this poem, your Mother, lives on in a fiercely beautiful way through you. A lovely remembrance for a lovely, courageous, and noble soul from a daughter who has done her more than a little proud.
Aberjhani
We never forget Karla, you can trust me on this one. When we love our mothers as you and I do they will always be there whether in the whisper of the wind, the beauty of that red carnation you see at the market, the advice that comes out of nowhere to guide you, or the child that unexpectedly reaches up a hand to you. She is part of your life as much as any other body part will ever be, only the pain of the loss diminishes with time and that is God's way of helping us go on.
O, Karla, this is so beautiful! You will never forget mom; I know I won't! But she lives on in our hearts, and nobody can ever take that away from us! Beautiful tribute to a special woman in our lives; she willl never be forgotten! God bless her memory!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your twin, Karen Lynn. :( >tears <
One never forgets as the senses won't allow it. The heart relies on the senses to give us the dreams we've lost. If only's are regressive and love/respect ages like fine wine
Susan
The true story of Cheryl Pierson Cuccio who made headlines in 1986 and her husband Rob Cuccio. Cheryl was abused sexually and physically and Rob died for 43 minutes on Cheryl's 43rd birthday.
For a time, I perched myself on a flat rock, comparing my life with the Guyandotte River. Just as its tributaries replenish it daily, changing it in some small—sometimes great—degree, so have the day-to-day occurrences of life changed me. Like the ri
Aberjhani
God Bless
Michelle!
lovely poem Karla
peace and love, Carole
just befor he died...also at his funeral that was what I used!!
Take care sweetie!!
Love Tinka
Hugs,
Felix
(((HUGS))) and much love, your twin, Karen Lynn. :( >tears <
eT
Love and hugs, Birgit and Roger
Carmen :-)
Susan