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.