five weeks.

It has been five weeks since I last heard Mom's voice. That's not yet quite a record. When I was in Mali in college for a semester it was longer. But at least then I got letters (though several weeks removed from when they were written). And at least then I knew that Mom was thinking about me constantly and that she would be there to give me a giant hug when I returned. And vice versa. At least then she was alive.

I've had this photo of Mom on my desk since college. I think she is in her early 20's here.  I  always  wished I could be as beautiful as my mama with those amazing movie-star dimples that she had. Genuine, punctuated happiness.

I don't remember the last words she spoke to me. If I would have known they were to be the last, believe me I would have remembered. I'm sure they weren't anything profound, as that wasn't how we communicated. But what I do remember are those last hugs and smiles and hand squeezes. I remember how she interacted with Yuri and Gareth up until she was no longer able to. The doctors had told her to save her energy for things that were important to her; she saved her energy for family - especially those boys. That is the brightness that remains in my mind when I think about her and her life. And it is those memories and that brightness that will somehow propel me forward.

During the three days she was able to be at home after her diagnosis, she fully embraced having Yuri and Gareth near her, playing and delighting in each other.