Yesterday, was one year since I said goodbye to you, Mama. I wanted to write about our goodbye and decided I didn’t have the words. I understood your struggle more with Alzheimers.

But I thought of you all day. Thought of what I should write about you. Thought of your kind and gentle ways. Thought of how to do your memory justice and decided I couldn’t.

Today, I will attempt it again. You’d be embarrassed to know I’m sharing you on the internet with strangers—that I do know. But you are worth it, Mama.

If only everyone could be like you. If only everyone had a mother like you. If only you could have adopted those that I loved who were abused or neglected. If only, Mama, and they would’ve learned their value and enjoyed terrific self-esteem. If only they had you as theirs.

When you left us, I waited for you to take another breath—you didn’t. I stared at your peaceful face, and thought, is this it? Is that all?

You labored with my birth, and I was privileged to nurse you at your death. I felt your joy at being freed from frailness and struggles with your memory. I suspected you took every ounce of love you ever gave or was given you to Heaven, and more love greeted you in that place.

We wanted to celebrate your freedom, although I believed I should cry at the loss of you. So, I kissed your cheek, touched your hair. My husband took your hairbrush and straightened your wisps. I said, “Goodbye, Mama. I’ll join you one day. Please, watch for me.”