Today marks one year since my mother’s death. I still get the urge to call her almost every day.  I miss talking to her.  There are so many things I still want to share with her. “She can still hear you,” my son says. He suggested I write down everything I want to tell her on a piece of paper, and then put it into the fire. “It will go up to her.”  He is so certain of it. So matter of fact. It reminds me of my parents’ faith. Faith shows the reality of what we hope for; it is the evidence of things we cannot see.  Hebrews 11:1. I don’t have that kind of faith, but maybe I can borrow theirs when I need it. 

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