my favorite photo of Mom, as a girl, Eliza Rose Sutton

I’ve started three other posts over the last week, confident in my decision not to take this sappy Mother’s Day excuse to write yet another essay about my Mom, how much I miss her, how I see her everywhere.

Yes, everywhere.

Yellow roses on the table where we took Dad for brunch. The gorgeous feather bracelet, now on my wrist, a Mother’s Day gift from my extraordinary sister-in-law, Kathy. (She insisted Mom wanted me to have it.) Mom’s bathrobe RIGHT THERE when I opened the closet door, in my room at the Florida Big House.

I am where I’ve always been, she said in the dream, where I’ll always be. 

I am always here.

I know, Mom. I know it for sure.

Happy Mother’s Day.