Still, if I hurry, I will still be able to send a box of brownies and I might make same-day-delivery for a bunch of flowers, to let her know I’m thinking of her. Rationally, I know that all the flowers in the world will mean little to this woman who has tossed and turned too many nights since November 11, 2011, when she cried out in disbelief that “her wee girl has cancer,” and again in November 2013 when that same girl's husband died. Cruel and ironic that at 76, just when she thought she didn’t need to watch over me any more, she must experience the sleeplessness I imagine is known only by mothers whose children are lost or sick or in trouble.
So thank you, ma. On Mother's Day and every day.
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