Oh-oh-oh I, I hope your dancing in the sky
and I hope your singing in the angels choir
I hope the angels, know what they have
I bet it's so nice up in heaven since you've arrived
We already know how beautiful a mother’s love is. This year, marks year number eleven and twelve without her physically present. The only day that I dread going to mass on Sunday is on Mother’s Day. Everyone, young and old, is accompanied by their mother, grandmother, or maybe even the mother of their children. I’m just sitting there like, #turnup. I reflected last year on this. I only had her for nineteen years, but if God would have asked me: you can have another woman to be your mother for fifty or eighty years or Maria De Jesus Dominguez for nineteen, I would chose my “Chiquita” 100 of 100 times without hesitation.
Your mother is always with you...
She's the whisper of the leaves
as you walk down the street.
She's the smell of bleach in
your freshly laundered socks.
She's the cool hand on your
brow when you're not well.
Your mother lives inside
your laughter.
She's crystallized
in every tear drop...
She's the place you came from,
your first home...
She's the map you
follow with every step that you take.
She's your first love and your first heart
break....
and nothing on earth can separate you.
Not time, Not space...
Not even death....
will ever separate you
from your mother....
You carry her inside of you....
-Anonymous
