Mom told me about a dream she had this past week. In the dream, it was dark. No light. She could sense the presence of two others near her. She knew one of them was Dad. She didn't know who the other person was. She was standing alone. Dad and the other person were standing together, across from her. She was facing towards them. At one point, Dad reached out his hand, and she raised hers to take his. She felt a desire to be with him...to go with him. As she was thinking this, Dad let go of her hand. She didn't know why. She told me she can only think it was his way of saying, he had to go, but she couldn't come...that it wasn't her time yet.

Or maybe, Dad was trying to tell her goodbye. To let him go...

It's my birthday this Friday. I'll be 43 years old. I remember when my Mother was 43! This Sunday is Mother's Day. I was born on Mother's Day.

I'll be leaving Thursday for a long-anticipated holiday with my daughter and her family. I'll be seeing her graduate from college. Hard to believe. I remember the day I came home, tired and bedraggled, VERY unsure of myself as a new mother, with this little lump with blue eyes and golden downy hair on her little head, wiggling and looking at me...As if I knew what to do! But she trusted me, so I pulled myself together and stumbled along as best as I could, learning as I went by the seat of my pants. Making mistakes, I also tried to be open and honest about them.

So much has happened since then. One thing for sure, there's never been a dull moment with Eva. She's been the most fascinating person to watch grow into herself. So many wonderful things to come yet.

Mom has often said similiar things. Remembering me and my sisters when we were young, when her and Dad were young parents. It's said with a mixture of happiness and sadness. Happiness because of the blessing of those experiences, sadness because they are long in the past, and so bittersweet when reality of her present forces itself in front of those memories.