I want to retort, “Yeah, what a shame for you.
My mom died three months after we married.”
Because I use hurtful humor
to look stronger than I am.
But I don’t—because that response
came to me five hours later.
Instead, I cry. You say, “You look
just like her.” I know. As I get older,
I see her in the mirror more every day.
It makes me wish she could see me now.
I wish you had gotten to know her more, too.
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