Her eyes make more sense than any one person’s words. She is drawn to death and justice by nature and loves the twisted kind of jokes. Her hair is white, soft and always smells like flowers. When you cry she places her small, delicate hand on your shoulder, just below the clavicle and curls her bottom lip in compassion. She does not say too much, just enough. Her small frame of a little girl hides the strength and wisdom of ten 70 year old women.
She is my confidant and my backbone. She is the sword of justice and the soft touch of motherly understanding. despite all hardships and inner turmoils, her cup is never empty. She is the peace we all hope to fall back on.