On Sundays - I called my mother. For as long as I can remember. On Sundays - I called my mother.
We talked at other times and on other days...but there was something about Sundays. It became the day when we made time and space and reached out to talk more leisurely...to connect.
It's Sunday. It's exactly - the 4th Sunday after the wedding. It's the 2nd Sunday after the funeral. It's Sunday - again. just another Sunday...and - it's so not.
The sun rose this morning - as it does every morning - beautiful and bold and bright.
In an instant - life can change. It's not a new lesson. It's one I learned one quarter century ago...and am now re-visiting and re-learning again. And again. And again.
My strong legs weeble and wobble. The ground that was once so familiar - feels uncertain.
Baby steps. One day...and then another.
When we were young - she loved to read us Dr. Seuss's 'Are You My Mother?'
And - here I am. It's just another Sunday. Or - is it?