I have morphed into my mother. It happened when I started wearing the red, silk pajamas I gave her. The ones that fit perfectly underneath the red robe I love to linger in on cool mornings. The ones the nurses dolled her up in during the last days of her life.
I see it in my smile. When I Skype with Von. When I talk on the phone to Tam and Terry.
And when I watch t.v. with feet propped on the coffee table while eating lunch. Just the way she did when it was just us girls.
And I hear it in my voice. The same pitch. The same warmth
Every thought passing through Mama’s brain sparkled in her eyes. Even as she was actively passing away, her eyes told me that someone mighty grand was beckoning her. Somebody like my daddy. And Jesus.
I’ve always heard that we turn into our moms. I’m honored and humbled to say I have.