My mother left today. After leaving a message for Jude on the video camera, promising to think of him every day, she drove away. I stood on our front lawn sniffling under the blaring sun and waved until I couldn't see her anymore. For two weeks she has taken care of the three of us: washed and folded our clothes, changed innumeral diapers, bought groceries, made us delectable food, cleaned our house, scrubbed our oven, watched Jude while I napped, driven me on small excursions, picked up every thing I have accidentally dropped, promised me that it is normal for a baby to do x or y, reassured me over and over I would heal, and kept me company while we have starred googlie-eyed at my small boy for hours on end. As I am newly learning, there is nothing like the love of a mother or father. As I have watched her hold and cuddle Jude, I can see her in my mind's eye twenty-seven years ago, cuddling a little Emily and I know I have been loved every moment of my life. After we visited Grandma and Grandpa T today, I had the same feeling, imagining them years ago cuddling a little Jan. My grandpa walked around the room with Jude in his hands and said over and over, "How special...how special."

And so it goes.

Once she left, I shuffled back into our apartment and held Jude for a long time. After that, I put him into the sling she made, finished the laundry she started and pulled out leftovers from last night's dinner.

I miss her.