To _

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory,
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

My Mother died this year.
Monday was the first birthday I have had since she died.
It makes me sad to think that the person who brought me into this world is no longer in it.
My father is still alive, but I really did not know him until I was 18 and I have never felt any sort of bond with him.
My mother was there through it all...and now she is gone.
I miss her.