Weeda

Weeda is how her name is pronounced

O.U.I.D.A is how it is spelled.
She is my mother and today is the eleven year anniversary of her death.

She died of hepatic cancer.

at home, in the middle of the night, with my father at her side.

So, this is for you Mom, I wonder how it is that you are still so vivid in my dreams.
That you come to me in the oddest places while in my dreams
such as, my closet or
the backseat of my car or
In the house we lived in forty-five years ago

and once

In the old Santa Barbara I. Magnin department store (that one, I get)

I am always perplexed and pleased that people still tell me how much I look like you, although I can’t see it

I tousle the thick wavy auburn hair of my own first grandson and I know you had something to do with that. I delight in the second grandchild with his devilish grin and indominatible spirit and I see you... you at two and you at seventy two.

I look at your quilts and wonder at the legacy you leave. Those beautiful handstitched masterpieces. Truly superb artistry, that will last for generations to come.

I look through old photos with Dad and he lingers long on those of you and he together

I don't know what he is thinking but,

I know what I am thinking

if Mom knew this was the third day in a row

Dad has worn that same shirt...

we'd all be in trouble!

Wish you were here Mom
Wish you were here