Four Years

I was in a funk yesterday. Nothing worked to get me out of it. Food didn’t have flavor. I read, watched videos, wrote in my journal, prayed, listened to music, went to Target, read some more, ate Zippy’s chili, watched Selena on TV, exercised, FaceTimed with friends, and read one more time. Nothing worked. I finally gave in and allowed myself to miss her. I miss her more than my heart could handle. I remember the last time we spoke four years ago. I’m grateful that the one regret I’ll never have is telling her that I love her. I made that loud and clear. I remember how she always apologized  for her broken English, which I never saw the need to because we had the best conversations even when we sat side-by-side not saying anything at all. Instead, we compared our hands a lot, specifically our crooked pinkies and long nails. We laughed at our imperfect hands and all I could think of was how my hands would never measure up to the hardworking hands Mama Liza had. She lived a serving life that will forever inspire how I choose to live mine.

Four Years

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