They say that when you lose someone, all you have left are your pictures and your memories. I don’t remember you, but I have memories of others as stories about you. Everyone who told me a story about you told me how amazing and perfect you were. When I was growing up, this made you seem unrelatable. I felt like others expected me to be amazing and perfect as you. I remember feeling like it was only a matter of time before everyone realized I was nothing like you. One of the stories I was told about you, was that you were “camera shy” and I related to that.
After growing into an adult, I feel like I know you as a woman. I bet there were times when you were overwhelmed when you doubted yourself. From the little bit that I do know about you, I know that you were a good mother. I was lucky to have you, even if it was only for 6 short years. Even though you were an artist, a musician, a gardener, canned food, sewed clothes and toys, a great cook, and delivered babies, all while carrying a baby on your back or hip, I know you weren’t perfect, but I’m sure you were perfect to everyone in your life. The stories about you overflow with your compassion for others. Always giving of yourself.
I know I missed you growing up. I missed having someone teach me how to be a woman in this world, but it was when I became a mother that I felt your loss in a different way. I feel like my mothering has been guided by stories about you though. I want to say thank you. Thank you for sacrificing your body and health to birth and nourish my siblings and me. Thank you for canning all the wild blackberries, we ate blackberry pie for a couple of years after you were killed, appreciating your work and it’s still my favorite kind of pie. Thank you for being in these pictures. I heard that you didn’t like to be in pictures. Maybe you didn’t like the way you look, but to us kids, you are the most beautiful woman that ever existed. I’m so grateful that we have these treasures.
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