When my mother passed away, the framed photo of us on the living room mantel became far more than just a picture — it became a sacred relic of our past, a constant reminder of love, comfort, and the unspoken bond we shared.
It was the first thing I noticed when I walked into the house, the first thing I looked at when I needed courage, and the last thing I saw when I went to bed at night.
In that photograph, Mom’s gentle smile seemed to radiate warmth across the room, whispering reassurance that even though she was gone, she remained with us.
