Ode to Lena
My mom, Lena, is always with me. She’s the whisper of the leaves as I am outside, she’s the smell of certain foods I remember, the flowers I try to grow. Mom is the cool hand on my brow when I am not feeling so good. She is the breath in the air on a cold winter day. She is the sound of the rain that I fall asleep to. Mom is Christmas mornings. She is the place I came from, my first home. Mom lives in my laughter. Mom is the map I follow with every step I take. Mom was my first friend, even my first enemy, but nothing can separate me from her. Not in time, even in death.
Huge shoes to fill as I travel in my life.