It is a day of memories, a day never to be forgotten.
My three children are in the photo, and Dad is in the background, as are two of my sisters and their children, but everyone who gazes at the poorly developed photo is drawn inexplicably to Mom’s smile. In the photo, her face is raised up to the sky. To the sun or to our Creator, she alone knows. Her eyes are closed.
I remember how warm it was that day and how she had squinted up at me, shielding her eyes with both hands.
“Are my legs getting red?” she’d asked.
My eyes brim with unshed tears as I remember the feel of her skin on the palm of my hand. Hot. The scalding tears run down my face. How I wish I could touch her one more time.
“No, Mom,” I replied. “But better put some sunscreen on before you get a burn.” Reluctantly, she’d sat up, the peaceful smile disappearing, and rolled her pant legs down, again.
“Save it for the kids,” she said, her eyes scanning the group of children splashing in and out of the water. The whisper of a smile touched her lips as she watched for a long, wistful moment. With a sigh, she rose from the chair and moved toward the car where the coolers awaited.
“Maybe we should get lunch going,” she said as she opened the first cooler.
Now it is my turn to smile. Mom was not ready to relinquish dinner duties, after all. On a whim, I turn my face heavenward and close my eyes. I draw a deep breath and search for the special place Mom found that afternoon. It comes to me easily. Without pomp or ceremony, there she is, smiling again. Tears squeeze from beneath my closed lids, and I fervently pray that anyone who might come upon me at this moment will say my smile reminds them of Mom’s smile, that day on the beach so long ago. Tender, sweet, unassuming - and despite our loss it was peaceful.
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