My Mother

Today would have been my mother's birthday.
Mom died from cancer when she was just a little older than I am now, but I like to imagine her peering over my shoulder from time to time, keeping tabs on me.
She would have been so tickled at my foray into children's book illustration. Ruth and I both inherited our illustration talent from Mom; I remember she used to draw for us when we were very little: fairy tale characters and princess in lush ball gowns with ribbons (I wanted lots of ribbons).
(Above: I'm in the striped shirt)
Mom left her childhood home in Japan to move to Canada to meet and marry my father. She must have been so nervous, especially since her English was not the best. She made a home for herself here with a loving husband and raised three children.
My mom's been gone for many years, but I can see her in the mirror and in photos sometimes: snatches of her expressions, her mannerisms. When I was a teenager, I used to be horrified at the thought of becoming like my mother.
Now, it makes me happy.