Times my mother stood up for me.

“Mom?” I whispered.

I hadn’t said it in so long. When death takes your mother, it steals the word forever.

“Mom?”

It’s just a sound really, a hum interrupted by open lips. But there are a zillion words on this planet, and not one of them comes out of your mouth the way that one does.

“Mom?”

She wiped my arms gently with the washcloth.

“Charley.” She sighed. “The trouble you get into.”

– For One More Day, Mitch Albom

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