There are few times in the year I enjoy as much as Mother's Day, because it celebrated everything that you had given to me, taught to me, and hoped for me—a tribute to your selflessness and love. I used to go around reading all of the tear-jerking plaques and touching the delicate petals of the lovely bouquets gathered in the name of the most special person on Earth: a mother.

My mother.

You had such a soft, dainty touch with me, yet you were a hard worker and would come in after a Saturday gardening, cleaning, and pruning with blistered hands. Perhaps your gentleness meant so much more knowing your strength. I loved just hanging around you...we used to get up early on Saturday mornings and go "bumming around"...maybe it was just a trip to a retail store or to pick up a few groceries, but we'd drive around extra blocks singing to the music on the radio, laughing at each other's silliness...find a parking lot with a pretty view of the morning sun and just talk. You were easily my best friend, and though you'd wish it differently, the now empty position will not be filled.

I get how this is supposed to go now, this being here without you...and even though I'd wish it differently, I understand about going on and continuing the life you wanted me to live. I see beauty in the ordinary again—the beauty that you taught me to see. I remember so many Summer nights, "Laura! Laura! Come quick!" I'd follow her voice to the western-facing bedroom windows and we'd stand there washed in the iridescent burn of a setting sun. "God paints us a pretty picture," you'd say. It's a statement that crosses my mind often in adulthood, and I am able to enjoy what many fail to even notice.

Because of you.

I dealt with a lot of the people you knew from the UW Hospital in the last months, and they all remembered you. With all of the patients they see, and with all the time that had passed since they had seen you, they remembered. Linda, my [our] surgeon's nurse, took care of all of my pre-op appointments and battling with my HMO to get things covered. She said a few times, "Thank God your mother didn't live to see this happen to you. This would have killed her if the Cancer hadn't." And I had to cry, because it would have. You would have blamed yourself for passing on your genetic anomalies. A phone call with the geneticist and he mentions wryly and more to himself, "I guess it's just luck that your mother's body didn't reject you." I guess that's what happens when you really want something...you really wanted me and I really wanted you, and we both fought to get me here. I wouldn't have it any other way. It is a testament to the human spirit that every now and then, we can defy science and, too, make one and one equal something other than two.

It is raining right now. I can smell it through the window on the crisp air, the subdued tapping playing against the roof. It is supposed to clear up as the day goes on, but we'll share this bit of rain, you and I. A dark chill isn't meant to last, but to be respected while it is here.

I love you.