These are the same sort of flowers I used to send you for your birthday and other occasions because I knew you loved them. I remember being in the Botanical Gardens with you, admiring the irises.
I miss you, Mommy. I miss you every day of the year. I hear your voice in my head, still nagging me about my food choices and my grammar and a host of other things, but it was all with your love and I knew it.
I'd like to be the daughter again, and you the parent.
You're hear with me, every day, Mom. And you always will be.
Love,
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