Missing Beats 

When you were alive, for most of my adult life, you were an enigma to me. It seemed the more I tried to know the woman behind the mother, the less I understood her.

I knew you were indeed someone much more extensive than your slim frame, kind eyes, and coy personality. You had a magnetism that drew people to you. Primarily, your girls. A pull so strong that no matter how many oceans away, its power did not relent.  

Everyone and anyone was at ease in your presence. This was your gift. This was your sacrifice.

When you were alive, little did I know what I secretly deemed annoyances or found embarrassing would become what I loved and missed most about you.

It was the end that shook loose long hardened but eroded walls. Revealing glimpses here and there for both of us. And sometimes for several moments. Honesty buttressed with the certainty of no follow-up conversations or awkward next-day interpersonal dances that accompany newly opening hearts.

No tomorrows. Only Now. We did live in the moment, didn’t we?

No tomorrows. Only Now. We did live in the moment, didn’t we.

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