Who Would Have Thought Something

His Love For My Mother Wasn't About Looking Back And Loving Something That Would Never Change. It Was About Loving My Mother For Everything -- For Her Brokenness And Her Fleeing, For Her Being There Right Then In That Moment Before The Sun Rose And The Hospital Staff Came In. It Was About Touching That Hair With The Side Of His Fingertip, And Knowing Yet Plumbing Fearlessly The Depths Of Her Ocean Eyes.

She Didn't Even Have To Smile, And She Rarely Did Outside Her House--it Was The Eyes, Her Dancer's Carriage, The Way She Seemed To Deliberate Over The Smallest Movement Of Her Body.

Heaven Is Comfort, But It's Still Not Living.

All You Have To Do Is Desire It, And If You Desire It Enough And Understand Why -- Really Know -- It Will Come.

The Sun Came Through The Branches Of The Tree Above Her, And Ruth Looked Up Past Them. "i Think She Listens," She Said, Too Softly To Be Heard.