I've always avoided acknowledging the anniversary of my mother's death, but she has been so much in my thoughts the last couple weeks. She died thirteen years ago. Life goes on, full of many ups and a few downs, but we miss her.
This is not a full-life reflection. I've simply gathered photos taken over the last 15 to 20 years of her life that capture one of her expressions. There are many missing. She is more self-conscious than she was away from a camera. She had a look that could stop me cold at 50 feet. I never thought to capture that one. Today, with cell phones and cameras everywhere, I might be able to. I'm feeling a look just thinking about it. I don't have any of her trying to tell a story and laughing too hard to complete it. Nor of her concentrating intently, be it on a bridge hand, a baseball game, or a book. These are not the mother I knew as a child, nor the woman she was before she had children, nor the wife or daughter. But this is the woman I knew and loved as an adult. This is the mother I miss.