All the things I should have said to you must remain unspoken. I have to settle for writing them out here, which is only a poor substitute. I should have written you every day, telling you all about our children, and how wonderful they are. I should have sent you cards and notes, and called you on the phone. Even the most trivial of things would have been of deep interest to you, I'm certain of it. I should have shared my experiences of motherhood with you, and asked for your advice. I should have asked for your recipes for rice pudding, baked corn. I should have asked you what my father was like as a boy, and told you stories of our son, who reminds me of him. I didn't, and now it is too late. I have so many happy memories of childhood; you are in most of them. Time spent at the cottage with the other cousins, going to Vacation Bible School, those plaster of paris fruit molds when we learned about the Fruits of the Spirit. Chef Boyardee pizza in a box, fried squash, sno...
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