During my visit to NY this summer, I came across my mother's copy of Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul. There was one page marked, and this was the story on that one page:

Finding Her There

Every year my birthday followed the same ritual. My mother would come to see me, on that late fall day, and I would open the door. She would be standing on the step with wind swirling leaves around her feet.

There would be a chill in the air, and in her hands she would hold my birthday gift. it would always be something small and precious, something I had needed for a long time and just never knew it.

I would open this gift from my mother with great care, then I would tuck it carefully away with all my heart's possessions. How fragile these gifts were, from my mother's hands.

If my mother could come to me today on my birthday, I would bring her into the warmth of my kitchen. Then we would have a cup of tea, and watch the turning leaves press themselves against the windows.

There would be no rush to open my gift, because today I would know that I had already opened it when I opened the front door to find her there, with the wind swirling leaves around her feet...

Christina Keenan

February 1, 2010:

I am committed to restarting my blog. Today, I found myself struggling to remember my password, how to post, how to upload a photo, etc. Once I found the posting page, this post was waiting to be posted from last year. I imagine my intention was to post on my birthday, October 27.