The flow of what a mother remembers
I sit here on the porch, the sun caressing my aging face. I feel the warmth’s massage, much needed after a lengthened span of blustery winds. I allow my mind to wander back to days of newness and joy. Days of motherly memories.
I think about my firstborn. Coming into this world earlier than predicted, showing signs of internal failings, fighting for a single whiff of…