Your mother is always with you. She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street. She is the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick, the fragrance of life itself. She's the cool hand on your brow when you are not feeling well.
She is your breath in the air on a cold winter's day. She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the colors of a rainbow. She is Christmas morning.
Your mother lives inside your laughter. She's the place you came from, your first home and she's the map you follow with every step you take. She is your first love, your first friend, even your first enemy, but nothing on earth can separate you, not time, not space, not even death.
In memory of my mom, Carmela (Millie)
April 5th, 2002