Mom.
Remember when I managed to burn a hole through my foot when I was about two, which resulted in a skin graft? I don't remember the accident itself, but I remember all the stories you told: how horrifying it was to clean, how careful you had to be to make sure the healing continued without problems, and how I cried in agony.
One of the photos I have somewhere, but can't find, is of us in Hawaii. I'm wearing the special sock on my foot to protect it. You were grasping onto me so tightly, but with a warm, protective smile.
Now I'm looking at a photo of my own family in Hawaii. Twenty-two years married. Four kids. And I can understand the way you were holding me in that picture.
I might not have any memory of (yet another) accident, but I remember your arms were always safe. I know mine are too.
We miss you.
❤️
Jake