Remember the times we ran off to Santa Fe? The art was magnificent in the galleries, you cried to go home. Your Kitty was missing you? I recall the box lunches the hotel made for us to bring on our ride to the top of the mountain where we fished in the stream. The trout were small but a challenge to catch. We stayed and stayed and talked and talked. Faded memories of cherished days well spent, listening to my sweet daughter, her hurts and regrets. I was there to catch you if you fell. The job of being a mother never ever ends. I pass this knowing on to you. Someday you will let your daughter know, you are there, for her and her and him.