Some memories don’t just visit you—they stay. Not because they were grand or planned, but because they came wrapped in everyday laughter and the presence of someone you miss dearly. A few years ago, I picked up my elderly mom to bring her to my house for Easter lunch. She had her usual batch of goodies— something she’d made for the meal, a plastic sack with odds and ends, and a little something extra for Kade, my grandson—her great-grandson.
She climbed into the passenger seat like always, giving me the same commentary she always did on the weather, the neighbor’s dog, and how “these newfangled seatbelts” seemed to shrink every year.
We pulled into the driveway, popped the doors open, and were about to unload everything when I froze.
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