She would have been Sixty-One today. Still so young…and already seven years gone.

She would have been proud of the courage found in these thirty-something’s… Choosing not to dwell on the broken fear of those twenty-something’s she left me in.

She would have read her only child’s first novel and gone on and on about that one part where they play her favorite song.

She would have begged for every last detail on that guy I met three Sundays ago and then told me I needed to wear more green. Always more green. Redheads are supposed to wear green she would say.

She would have insisted on the old ornaments and the colored lights on my Christmas tree. And the Star on top, instead of the Angel.

She would have requested popcorn shrimp and pineapple pie for dinner and Poinsettias on the table.

She would have reminisced about tutus and sugar plums and how much I always hooted and hollered when she would put my hair in a bun.

And she would have sang Silent Night in that beautiful smoker’s voice of hers; recalling the little girl who never could quite fall asleep without it.

Every once in a while, on nights like this, the would-haves visit, cloaked in nostalgia and days not tainted by disease,.

And a girl remembers how much she misses her mom.


Chelsey Whitlow





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