|Mom at the mic, circa 1960|
After my mother died in 2007, my sister and I tackled the job of clearing out her house, room by room. I thought the kitchen pantry would be pretty straightforward, so I opened the door and surveyed the shelves.
I put the angel in my pocket and brought her home. She reminds me to say what needs to be said, and not to wait for the moment that may never come. She sleeps here now, undisturbed, on her sliver of moon.