You have opened my heart to such a deep compassionate love. The loss makes it hard to breathe. You were the guiding light of my childhood. I love you for so many reasons, I love you because you taught me respect, I love you because you did not ever neglect, I love you because you allowed us to be children I love you because you disciplined with love, I love you because you taught me how to bake, I love you because you taught me how to cook, I love you because even when I failed you never gave up, I love you because you make me smile, I love you because you love unconditionally, I love you because you never placed any conditions on me, I love you because you believed in me, I love you because through any sorrow you are my sunshine, I love you for so many other reasons and these are only a few, but I love you simply because you are only you! His name lunged to the fore of my mouth before I caught it. Thank you for passing down some of your best qualities. I am writing to go back to the time, at the rest stop in Virginia, when you stared, horror-struck, at the taxidermy buck hanging over the soda machine by the rest rooms, your face darkened by its antlers.
The windows are aluminum-frame, the brickwork alternating yellow and ash-gray, the air-conditioners built in beneath the windows—as standardized as a Nazi or Soviet apartment block, really. Once September had become October, and then November, the thought of giving up felt like accepting some defeat. You can color that in. For the rest of the day, while you worked on one hand or another, you would look up and shout, You guys, it was a fucking horse! I have to confess that I had to elope with my new boyfriend because I wanted to avoid making a scene with you and dad. Watch me do it without violence. You would wake up early, spend an hour doing your makeup, put on your best sequinned black dress, your one pair of gold hoop earrings, black lamé shoes.
What a beautiful lady she is, also caring, smart and compassionate. Words cannot fathom how grateful and proud I am to be called your daughter. Like a tissue, you wipe away my tears. A cloud of cigar fume marked an alcove featuring a never-ending poker game. I'm actually not sure I have ever written you a letter. You know Zodiac Media, right? The defense was the best in the league, and, arguably, the best the league had seen in years; they called themselves the Legion of Boom.
A number of cairns and tent circles showed that Eskimo had been there, but that, of course, may have been a long time ago. She died right there in the back yard, dammit. I see the love, caring, prayers, working, helping, cleaning, counting to ten, creativity, baking, shopping, no sleeping, driving, cheering, and all that mom stuff — that is totally awesome — that you did for me and my siblings. There's a blank space in the beginning for you to I assume fill out for yours which is a nice touch. A three-time Pro Bowler, Bennett is naturally funny, and a little eccentric, with a gift for provocation. Thank you for keeping me grounded. Athletic Club, and the chlorine in my eyes, and the man who I decided was famous, impatiently eating cornflakes at a poolside table.
Thank you for making me laugh and letting me see how well humor can make me feel better. As I get older, my appreciation and admiration towards you will continue to grow tremendously. Johannesburg, I decided, might not have much going on in the way of natural beauty, but its pools are excellent. Like all the women, I wore a bathing suit but added some neoprene socks once the temperature dropped below ten degrees. Thank you for knowing when I was wrong and spanking me when I was being a brat.
The arena in which you pilot your fickle finger of backgammon fate. When I remember this perspective I feel good. My feet on cool hardwood, I walked to your room. When they make me smile out of pure joy, I know what being a mom is all about. Perhaps there is a monstrous origin to it, after all. Everyone heals at a different pace; but when a mother passes its the hardest thing in life to experience. I know there were times when I made you worry and cry.
He believes that, eventually, players like Kaepernick and Bennett will be thought of in the same terms. He clapped his hand over hers. Suze Orman's letter to her mother Ann, for example, damn near broke my heart. Cape Town is Sea Point: picturesque, popular, and colder than it looks. He loved Marianne Faithfull, too; fair to say he was electrified by foul-mouthed women in general.
I felt this unprocessed rage impeded his art, and his life. According to Fraser, Cornwall currently processes applications for lost paths at a rate of about nine a year. For a few games, Bennett remained inside the locker room during the anthem; at a game in October, he sat on the bench again, but he has since gone back to staying in the locker room. A piece of fluff that gets knocked about the world by the wind. I wish I could buy them for each of my family members. You taught me to fight for everything that I believe in and to never back down. I doubt they ever did meet.