My mom was known for having the most beautiful handwriting. It was just so perfect and lovely. People loved getting cards and notes from her and she loved sending them. She loved being called the lady with the lovely handwriting. My brothers and sister and I treasured cards from her and she showered us with cards and notes. What bothers me now is that I didn’t save them in any one area…I would tuck them into books and cookbooks and notebooks and folders and drawers so that now…when I find one…it is just achingly sad. When my mom died…she had been ill for quite a few months and no longer wrote anything…not cards or notes or letters. I don’t think she even remembered our birthdays or anniversaries at all during her last year of life and she treasured them before she became so ill. Just writing about her this way makes me so very sad that she is no longer living. I used to cry when I was little when cousins or aunts or uncles wanted me to stay at their house for sleepovers…I could not bear to be away from her at night. If she went to a meeting at night and walked home…I could not sleep until she was safely in the house. She was such a funny brave and lively mom…she used to wash the windows on the second floor of our house by sitting on the window sill with her legs dangling in and her upper body out…and I would hold on to her legs from the inside as tightly as I could so she would not fall…so she would not slip away…and now…I just try to hold on to every little memory and thought of her…as tightly as I can.