|Emerald Angel, Mignon Wolfe 1996|
So, if I don't really "do Jesus", who am I talking to?
My mom was an artist, painting angels and flowers and all things beautiful.
|William's Firetruck, Mignon Wolfe 2004|
On the back it says, "To William on your 3rd birthday. I will love you always, Mimi"
She died suddenly one November when William was only three. Flooded by grief, one thought raged in my mind. She'll never know her grandsons.
|William and my Mom, August 2003|
I often wonder what she would think of them. I think she'd marvel over William's tenacious drive for perfection in all things, and laugh over my complaints about the way he nit-picks his brother. "He's just like your sister at that age", I imagine her saying with a knowing smile. How would she feel knowing her seat at our piano is now occupied by Wyatt, who, with his blonde locks and vibrant personality, is her spitting image?
|My Mom and Wyatt, Mardi Gras 2004|
I wish she could stand by me at that fence and share the excitement and anticipation. Instead I send my silent plea. Keep them safe. Ride with them.
Seven years later I allow myself to dream that she is where she is meant to be.