am compared with how i was when she arrived– so much more rested than i might have been, despite having days and days off teaching, had she not been here.
i realize this might be an uncommon gift: a mother whose time and conversation feed and fill the soul, who reminds you in words and silence of where you came from and, in so doing, of who you are. she was ready for church (of course) before us this morning and so did what she often did when i was growing up: she sat at the piano and played hymns and sang while she waited. when i came downstairs, will stood 