Really lovely story-telling, and your drawing matches your words like a hand sliding into a mother's glove. I watched my daughters go through their mothers things after she died. All the beauty and the mystery and the love and loss and memory wrapped up in those small items is an everyday miracle. They'd stare at them, hold them, treasure them. Thanks for helping bring that memory back to me.
Wow… I don’t remember ever giving a great deal of thought to those small things that may have provided a real look into the woman who was my mother. Your story welled me up, inside… I feel a sense of loss along with angst for what could have been… the opportunities I deftly let slip away. And, love, too, and happiness as well. Thank you…
My heart is caught in my throat. I regularly address my daughter (now 8) in my journals, with little disclaimers, for the inevitable day she starts reading them. I say journals are where I put my feelings TO process them and so I am bitchy and don’t mean half of what I say.
Outstanding words and art
Tender. Delightful.
Really lovely story-telling, and your drawing matches your words like a hand sliding into a mother's glove. I watched my daughters go through their mothers things after she died. All the beauty and the mystery and the love and loss and memory wrapped up in those small items is an everyday miracle. They'd stare at them, hold them, treasure them. Thanks for helping bring that memory back to me.
Wow. Love the last line!!!
This made my morning! I loved the illustrated commentary. It was very moving. Thank you.
This is so amazing. I didn't know that image and text could be wedded together so well.
Such a unique, intimate, and real love story told through your obsession with the objects in your mother’s nightstand. Brava!
Wow… I don’t remember ever giving a great deal of thought to those small things that may have provided a real look into the woman who was my mother. Your story welled me up, inside… I feel a sense of loss along with angst for what could have been… the opportunities I deftly let slip away. And, love, too, and happiness as well. Thank you…
My heart is caught in my throat. I regularly address my daughter (now 8) in my journals, with little disclaimers, for the inevitable day she starts reading them. I say journals are where I put my feelings TO process them and so I am bitchy and don’t mean half of what I say.
Love the sentiment and the story💕🙏♥️🌹