Last April, on my mom’s birthday, we planted some of her ashes under a new pomegranate sapling. My cousins bought and delivered the tree as a memorial gift. I can feel her around it. Once I heard her say hi with the same enthusiastic voice she used to use on me as a child.
I just noticed this week that there are three baby pomegranates growing on it!!
//instagram.com/p/nvhl9HAzft/embed/ This Mother’s Day also corresponds to my two-year anniversary as an author. That seems fitting. While the erotic romance thing made my mother extremely uncomfortable, I still think she would be proud of me. She taught me my love of books, literature and the written word.
A very frugal penny-pincher, the book store was the one place my mom would always spend money on us. She believed in the nourishment contained in a book.
I inherited from her a leather-bound complete set of Shakespeare–one of my first passionate literary loves.
Happy Mother’s Day, mom. Thank you for the gift of literature!