I remember that I always knew how much she loved me.

I remember crying, as a preschooler, when I was separated from her.

I remember the grilled cheese sandwich she made me the day our dog died.

I remember her letting me pack a lunch box, just like the kids who went to school did, and having a picnic in the back yard.

I remember all of the special Christmas and Easter dresses she made.

I remember the Barbie clothes she sewed, including those teeny, tiny buttons.

I remember her frying my dad an egg for breakfast every morning, then getting back into bed–but not to sleep–to read the Bible and pray.

I remember her stopping everything every afternoon, combing her hair, and putting on lipstick to greet my dad when he came home from work.

I remember how very much she loved him.

I remember her patience with a wayward teen.

I remember her selflessly giving of her time to others.

I remember the painstaking hours she spent sewing my wedding dress without a pattern.

I remember the love she had for her grandchildren.

I remember the last words she said to me.

I remember how very much I miss her.

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