Sometimes I See Her

So, it might sound a little bit crazy, but lately I see her, my mother.

I've been making sack lunches for school for 11 years... the process hasn't changed much, only lately I cut my son's pb and h sandwich in half and it reminds me of her and how she used to do it.

I cut up a banana almost every morning, the slices fall on top of a piece of toast--something I don't ever remember Mom eating, but again the way I slice the banana's in the air and let them fall on top of the bread... I haven't thought about the process--but I do it, and I see her precise hand using the knife.

Working in my kitchen with my baby girl alongside of me, I sang at the top of my lungs --You are my Sunshine-- and Little Miss joined in whenever she could. We put our clean dishes away, signing and laughing. And more than ever I saw Mom. She had me at the same age I had Little Miss. I have distinct memories of holding Mom's hands, our knotted fists swinging between us while she vacuumed. All the while singing that exact same song, her voice carrying above the hum of the vacuum. 

I don't feel like I've changed how I do things or where and when I do them. But lately I see her in myself as I do them. Maybe it's just that she's always on my mind, but then that isn't new either. I just don't remember seeing her so often in myself.

It's a happy sight.