My mother left her mark on everything she touched before she died.

She’s been gone for almost a decade.

Early-onset Alzheimer’s disease took her from me.

But I still find signs of my mother everywhere I look.

My mother left her mark on everything she touched before she died.

I still find her handwriting on post-it notes in her old books.

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I still find her name written in crayon inside an old table drawer.

And I still find my mother’s face in old photos and home videos.

Because my mother left her mark on everything she touched before she died.

I still find her favorites like Elton John, the Beatles, Elvis, George Jones, the Judds, and the Jackson 5 in my musical repertoire.

I still find her influence in my taste in fashion, film, literature, and music.

And I still find my mother’s childhood, college, and family stories in my mind.

Because my mother left her mark on everything she touched before she died.

I still find her fears and sadness in my own anxiety and depression.

I still find her philosophy and beliefs in my faith and worldview.

And I still find my mother’s kindness and patience in my brother.

Because my mother left her mark on everything she touched before she died.

I still find signs of my mother everywhere I look.

I still find her talents and sense of humor in my daughters.

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And I still find her likeness in my own face in the mirror.

Because my mother left her mark on everything she touched before she died.

Originally published on the author’s blog