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My Mom is a survivor, or so I've heard it said. But I can hear her crying at night when all others are in bed. I watch her lay awake at night and go to hold her hand. She doesn't know I'm with her to help her understand. But like the sands on the beach that never wash away... I watch over my surviving mom, who thinks of me each day. She wears a smile for others... a smile of disguise! But through Heaven's door I see tears flowing from her eyes. My mom tries to cope with death to keep my memory alive. But anyone who knows her knows it is her way to survive. As I watch over my surviving mom through Heaven's open door... I try to tell her that angels protect me forevermore. I know that doesn't help her... or ease the burden she bears. So if you get a chance, go visit her... and show her that you care. For no matter what she says... no matter what she feels. My surviving mom has a broken heart that time won't ever heal. By Kaye Des'Ormeaux October 15, 1998

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