She was my first woman friend, the connection from conception, the Great Protector against germs and nightmares.
She gave me piano lessons, and told me stories about granddad’s symphony life as easily as she orchestrated habits in the home, hot oatmeal at winter’s dawn and fresh blueberry pie in the peak of summer.
She sewed clothes for my dolls, handed out five cents for milk, a few pennies for candy, and three hundred dollars for nursing school in the late 1950’s.
She smiled through the important events in my life, made sure every rite of passage was celebrated until her last day, and the legacy was left to my sister, who mirrors mother in upholding tradition.
What is left to remember about her life before me? In old, sepia-tone photographs, she stands alone, smiling, among her somber faced family seated shoulder-to-shoulder.
Her love and laughter locked in my heart for a lifetime.