Missing Mae

Mae is Portuguese for mother.

Our mother gave sage advise.
She was a rock.
A pillar of strength for us to draw from.
She'd always cook our favorite meals.

If I pause, something she never did, I
can smell the warmth of her kitchen.
She always wore an apron.
She cooked from taste and love.
Baked from scratch.

She is right there in my mind's eye.
Sometimes when the distance between
visits was too long, she would
prepare a care package full of all my
favorite foods.

The box smelled like her kitchen, garlic, wine, and
cinnamon.  I'd eat and
weep with longing.

Years and years ago,  I miscarried my
second child, my mother was visiting.
It was providence for her to be with
me.  She was there to care for my
little one, clean up my loss,  and
comfort my heartache.

Months later, when the baby would have
been born,  I received a baby doll she had crocheted.
Unlike anyone else, she knew where my thoughts
were and exactly what I would need.  Something to
hold. 

Tend our wounds and mend our
hearts.  She longed for us as we long
for her still.

Parabens. 
Happy Birthday.