her smell, her love everything was perfect on those good days.

  ^ My grandma, Mom and Older sister Abby
<My mom age 21

Mommy and Me

My Grandpa and mom

Mommy Helping me walk

Mom pregnant with Abby

I have this emptiness inside me, the same one I have always had since I was little.

I still cry and pray for my mommy to come swoop me into her warm loving arms, the unforgotten smell, and her soft hands.

I still wait for her to cuddle with me.

Her hair was always perfect. This blonde 80's crowne that she rocked, she always looked so pretty.

I still vaguly hear her call me, "mandy. my baby... my moomoo"

I color like she does, with the cut out hearts and then spaz, bright colors bursting from the center, so when you remove the cute out... its a white heart surrounded by bursts, but with a clear perfect center.

I write like she does, big swoops with any long letters. I always though her writing was so elegant, here y's were my favorite... or the way she would write my name on her letters " Mandy Moomoo" and sign " your Mommy".

I have this arch in my foot, my dance arch I call it. My feet look just has beautiful as hers did. And when I paint my toes they look so neat. She used to kiss each toe after my baths and tell me how hard I danced and worked for keep them strong, "They are beautiful perfect piglets... this little pigey...." and so on.

I close my eyes in the shower and Imagine she's washing my hair again. She was so careful not to get soap in my eyes, Always used Paul Mitchell, No tears, as to make sure if it did get in my eyes... No sting:)

My wrists, fingers, and hands resemble hers... long, petite, and again elegant.

That word fits her. Elegant. On those clear memories, sober days... she was so beautiful, graceful, loving, constantly affectionate, and very, very ....

I miss her. She would dance in the living room, blasting Eurymthics, Bob Marley, Madonna... several more I remember but those were her favs... She would mop the floors and just giggle, throwing us down on the carpet spilling the bucket and we'd pretend like we were swimming. When we'd do laundry she'd plop me on top the washer or dryer and sing, making up songs... and then we'd make chocolate milk... when sh'ed turn around I would dump extra chocolate in mine, then feel bad and pour some in hers.

My older sister and I would sneak downstairs in the middle of the night. Abby(my older sister of 8 years) would push me onto the counter to get to the highest cabinet to grab the bacon-bits. My mom would always try to hide'em but Abby and I would always find the secret spot.

I remember my mom had her favorite China cabinet. She stored inherited tea cups, from Nana. She collected Wheaties boxes, her favorite was the one of Michel Jordan on the box. and she had my baby shoes in there too as well as a photo of my sister when she was a baby.

I loved looking on the walls seeing all her modeling shots. She did everything from legs & hands to Head-shots and regular beautiful classy modeling.
I really admired my mom when I was little, now I have to dig for those memories, those ones I craved so hard to never forget. I still smell her, hear her, feel her, and most miss the fact that she could pull her self together a day or two and become a real mommy.
And though I speak of how I had a rough childhood, I would NEVER trade those good days. I had a mommy...

when I went to live with my dad, I was 8, I picked up a habit of sleeping with my mommy and daddy's shirts. I felt safe when I had them, invincible and secure. It started because the smell never left the shirt for some reason. The shirts went with me everywhere and I felt like I could carry mommy and daddy with me and we were a family. Not sure if it was all in my head or just the powerful nose of a little girl.  But I held on to her shirt for years, my dad took his back... I'm gonna go through my boxes and look for her shirt... maybe I can still smell her... I hope.

Lately I have one shirt that isn't my dad's or my mom's, But I feel safe again, and it helps ease me to sleep with no nightmares... I know alot of people may read this part and think how I should let go and grow up... but I guess if that were the case then... why does anyone still hold on to anything from their youth? Is it because it secures you? reminds you? comforts you? whatever your reason forget what anyone tells you, never loose that piece of your cherished childhood. You'll ALWAYS come back to it.
... i miss you mommy & daddy.