MOM
I think of my mom every day.
Some days, I think of her sitting in the rocking chair, crocheting. She worked the needle back and forth and created fine pieces of work.
Some days I think of her sitting down with a cup of tea. She preferred a "china cup rather than a mug, Marn". Put the milk in first, and no sugar thanks.
Some days I think of her running the wash through the wringer washing machine. She tried to teach me, but all I could imagine was catching my fingers through the wringer.
Some daysI think of her praying. She prayed often and in many ways. I have a Bible of hers and there are little postscripts all the way through with dates and names indicating her bringing her requests before the throne of God.
Some days I think of her writing. She had such flowing script. And her grammar was always gud.
Some days I think of her arranging flowers. She rescued the perishing from arrangements and set them in small little dishes or rose bowls so there'd be a few more days for her to enjoy them.
Some days I think of her taking the driver's ed teacher course. She passed with flying colors but didn't have the nerve to take the practical exam. She said it was helpful to her though in knowing the rules of the road in more depth.
Some days I think of her listening to me and my sister singing when she was only a few days away from death's door. She opened her eyes after one song and said "I was thinking of how, when I get better, I'm going to tell my friends that my daughters sang to me at my bedside. ....But that's not going to happen is it?"
Some days I think of her enjoying heaven. Every day I miss her.
Some days, I think of her sitting in the rocking chair, crocheting. She worked the needle back and forth and created fine pieces of work. Some days I think of her sitting down with a cup of tea. She preferred a "china cup rather than a mug, Marn". Put the milk in first, and no sugar thanks. Some days I think of her running the wash through the wringer washing machine. She tried to teach me, but all I could imagine was catching my fingers through the wringer. Some daysI think of her praying. She prayed often and in many ways. I have a Bible of hers and there are little postscripts all the way through with dates and names indicating her bringing her requests before the throne of God.Some days I think of her writing. She had such flowing script. And her grammar was always gud.Some days I think of her arranging flowers. She rescued the perishing from arrangements and set them in small little dishes or rose bowls so there'd be a few more days for her to enjoy them.Some days I think of her taking the driver's ed teacher course. She passed with flying colors but didn't have the nerve to take the practical exam. She said it was helpful to her though in knowing the rules of the road in more depth.Some days I think of her listening to me and my sister singing when she was only a few days away from death's door. She opened her eyes after one song and said "I was thinking of how, when I get better, I'm going to tell my friends that my daughters sang to me at my bedside. ....But that's not going to happen is it?"Some days I think of her enjoying heaven. Every day I miss her. 
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xoxox
C