Another memory of her seeps into the corner of my eye as I wish she were here this Christmas to meet my children. They would have gathered around her piano, while she played the old songs we loved. We would have sung into the wee hours of the night as the children opened their gifts beneath our feet. The next morning I would have served her breakfast in bed; her favorite, toast with strawberry jam. And I would have brushed her hair and told her that I loved her, again and again, starting now. Happy New Year, Mom. I love you.
By Mary Mack