Today would have been her birthday.
She had red hair and a fiery attitude that matched.
She was brave - she moved across the world with her husband and 3 babies.
She liked to shop. No. She loved to shop.
She was a daughter. She was a sister. She was an aunt. She was a wife. She was a mama.
She loved to laugh.
These are the things that I know. But I often yearn to know the things I don't.
What was her favorite color?
Did she prefer the mountains or the beach?
What was her favorite memory from her childhood?
Were her hands smooth or rough?
What did her voice sound like?
What did she smell like?
What did her hugs feel like?
This woman that God loved:
She gave birth to the man I married. Would she be proud to have called me a daughter? What stories would she have told me about Chris that only a mama would know? Would my kids have reminded her of their daddy as a baby?
This woman whose memory still lives:
I see her red hair in Chris's goatee. My daughter shares her name. We use china every single day that she bought for me before she knew there was a 'me'. There are memories told by Chris about her. I wear an apron that she gave as a gift, which found its way to me.
There are so many things I wish I could talk to her about. Ask her questions about. Listen to her about. Share with. Love with.
While I can't do all these things, it does not take away the love I feel for the woman I only know through others. For the one who carried my husband in her womb.
Today, I remember Jane.
