Unconditional

The last time I saw her she was leaving.  It wasn't nearly time, but she said she was tired, and she was going just the same.  But that's not the way I remember her.

She was the only person to ever love me fully, loudly and unconditionally. From the day I came until the day she left, she wanted nothing but for me to be me, and she drank me up until I became part of her.  In return she gave me herself, never holding back the tiniest bit of her.  There were lots of things I didn't know back then but oh, how I knew that she loved me.

When her car pulled up in front of the house I would squeal and take off running as fast as my skinny legs would take me.  I'd leap into her arms as she kissed me all over my face and neck.  I'd giggle and squirm as she transferred her lipstick to my cheeks and her perfume to my clothes, and she would keep on and keep on until I screamed for her to stop!  Please stop!   

The box on my dresser was filled with one dollar bills.  Every time she saw me she would reach into her wallet and hand me one.  Lots of times those one dollar bills were all that were in there; she had nothing of monetary value to speak of.  But she wanted me to have everything I ever wanted, and she often showered me with stuff.  Those were not the best gifts she gave me, though. Not by far.

She taught me to love.  She taught me to look into someone's eyes and speak without words. She showed me how to wrap my arms around someone and effortlessly transfer feelings from one to another.  How did she become an expert at love, this woman with a fractured heart?  Her one true love had shattered it, the day he walked out and never looked back. I never met him, except for the one picture she kept in her nightstand and took out to show me once in a while.  I hated that man with passionate rage enough to kill him.  He was responsible for the only times I saw her cry.       

She taught me to sing and dance.  She knew how to have fun, and was always the first to a party and the last to leave.  She roared at the top of her lungs and danced in her high heels until she fell flat on her butt.  She didn't laugh so much as she cackled.  It was contagious.  She knew her way around a kitchen and taught me to make meatballs with brown bread and killer apple pie.  She taught me to knit and sew. She taught me to love licorice.  She showed me how to savor and appreciate the anticipation of Christmas Eve.   

She told me the most incredible tales, lying in bed next to me, holding me and rubbing my back.  She introduced me to all the people who werea part of her, and a part of me that I will never meet.  With her stories she took me to Sweden and Hawaii, the only places outside of her town that she had ever been.   

I miss her, but she is with me.  She makes herself known at special times, like on my wedding day or when my babies were born.  There were obvious signs of her then.  But other times I am not expecting her, and don't realize that she is here.  She sees when I'm happy, and she finds ways to poke me and smile.  She knows when I am scared, and comes to hover over me like a protective dog.   I treasure these moments to be with her again, when I can smell, touch, taste, see and feel the warmth and satisfaction of unwavering, unconditional love.