The older I get the more I know that truth is stranger than fiction. 

Yesterday a rather large moth landed on a cushion on our couch. Mark and Ben suggested it was either Mark’s mom or mine, popping into visit. 

My response, usually far more upbeat, was that I don’t think it’s my mom because I just don’t feel like she’s close to me at the moment. 

And then last night  a friend of mine, and my mom’s godchild, sent me a link out of the blue about the calling cards our loved ones leave when they visit. She thought it was weird that one of the examples used the name Emma and wanted to pass it onto me. 

There and then, once again, was not one sign that my mom is always close by but three. 



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