When my mother passed away, I packed up her home and belongings and shipped the boxes to Michigan, where I now make my home. I did not open those cartons until almost a year after her death. As I finally went through her beloved things, holding them, remembering, smelling her scent still with them, I found a small box wrapped in brown paper with her handwriting on the outside: for my dearest little trisha.

When I opened the box, I reached in and pulled out a small hand-made doll. I instantly remembered her as being the doll that my mother made when she was but six years old. Each little stitch was still in place and formed Betty Doll. Wrapped around her was a hand-written letter tied with a blue satin ribbon. When I opened the letter, I realized that Mom knew I would be reading it after her death.

In this story I would like to share her words with you, for in the face of bitter grief, her sweet words brought comfort, insight and warmth that still linger in my heart...and will continue to, as long as there are children who tell children about mothers they love.