All this two year old talk has made me think about my mom. And this picture. This is her 2 year old birthday. I wish I knew about her party. Did she sit in her mom's lap, overwhelmed by all of the kids playing with her toys? Somehow I doubt it.
It's really tough building a bridge from my mom to my children. I want her to be a part of our lives. And yet stories of impromptu banana splits and roller skating in the house just falls short. I only have so many memories and they seem to fade more than I want to admit. The stories are interrupted with questions about death that I cannot answer. There is also the inevitable subtext of mom's dying. Perhaps I am overly zealous, but I worry that they'll worry about me dying. And I worry about that too.