My mom rarely cried. At least not in front of me. But when her tears did happen, a jolt of fear would race through my heart. Because if Mom cried, that meant something really, really bad must have happened.
But not this time.
This time was different. A little more than five years ago, my mom was feeling weak, but we didn’t know how sick she was. If we did, she wouldn’t have been driving. And I wouldn’t have been distracting her by singing my latest song.
I’m glad I didn’t know. Continue reading