A Mother’s love is not measured in the years of devotion,
not in the countless, selfless sacrifices, nor the sleepless nights.
It is measured in uncounted tiny moments frozen in time; a hug, a kiss, a look that says, “I accept and love you without conditions,”
snapshots that teach us how to love and be loved.
But when these too fade,
I am left to wonder,
where our soul
and our love
truly do reside,
My feeble mind cannot hold such a treasure,
though it may try to give it words.
My heart cannot contain it,
though it feels its pain.
The answers are not here.
And so a heart aches,
hoping that somewhere, beyond what we can see,
far from what we can describe,
A mother’s Love remains. Miss you Mom

— at West Parish Garden Cemetery.

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