Remember Me For These Days, Not The

Have You Ever Really Had A Teacher? One Who Saw You As A Raw But Precious Thing, A Jewel That, With Wisdom, Could Be Polished To A Proud Shine?

Mothers Support Certain Illusions About Their Children, And One Of My Illusions Was That I Liked Who I Was, Because She Did. When She Passed Away, So Did That Idea.

Lost Love Is Still Love. It Takes A Different Form, That's All. You Can't See Their Smile Or Bring Them Food Or Tousle Their Hair Or Move Them Around A Dance Floor. But When Those Senses Weaken Another Heightens. Memory. Memory Becomes Your Partner. You Nurture It. You Hold It. You Dance With It.

It's Like Going Back To Being A Child Again. Someone To Bathe You. Someone To Lift You. Someone To Wipe You. We All Know How To Be A Child. It's Inside All Of Us. For Me, It's Just Remembering How To Enjoy It.

Death Doesn't Just Take Someone, It Misses Someone Else, And In The Small Distance Between Being Taken And Being Missed, Lives Are Changed.