I was looking through the window of a woman I had never met before. I was washing her dishes, feeling as if I was washing the same amount of cups that she drank from over the years because so many people came to her home when she left to another, better world. She must have been the most beautiful, sincere, and the strongest woman. I know this because you were too, Mom.
Twenty years ago people were washing dishes in our own home. And you know, there’s a book on my shelf turned upside down so that I don’t stare at its title that reminds me each day: I am a motherless daughter.