Mom

This morning, over a cup of coffee at the edge of the bay, we watched the seagulls. We discussed the secession of Kosovo, the tribal nature of Afghan politics, and that book that you just read about the Russian occupation. You shared your disillusionment - the sadness of living in such a time. You told me that you were tired - that you plan to retire in four years. You told me that you are frightened. You tell me that you are cynical.

When I see you reading a book, when I hear your laughter, when your capacity for love and forgiveness lives - despite the disappointments of life, I know that your sadness will not last. Is it any wonder that I admire you? I long to reflect the best in you, always.