My diary, today is my mother’s birthday, and I must take a break from writing of today’s events and instead dedicate an entry to my mother.

I remember her so clearly.

I remember her eyes that were as vast and dark as the night sky; when the light caught them, they sparkled like thousands of stars.

I remember how soft and comforting her silken, ivory fur was when she pressed me to it in an embrace. I remember her long and elegant—yet somehow strong--fingers that helped me up when I fell down. I remember her loving smile that was as bright and uplifting as the morning sun. I remember how just seeing mother and knowing she was there made me feel like I was invincible and never alone.

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Whenever it was mother’s birthday, she never did anything for herself. I remember one birthday she spent entirely on me—trying to teach me how to fly.

We stood on a tree branch together and she demonstrated how to fly first. She dove off the branch with perfect form-- looking for all the world like a brilliant swan--and then fluttered into the air looking like what humans called an angel. She encouraged me to jump, but I shook my head in terror. “I’ll die, Mommy!”

“Oh no, my darling! I would never let you die! Do you know why?” She asked me and fluttered to my side as I nervously cowered.

I looked up at her as she took me in her arms. “Because the sun would not rise without you. Because the world would be a lonely and miserable place without you.”

I was always looking up at her. I knew I could never be the woman she was.

I find myself oftentimes, hugging my knees, and thinking that the sun hadn’t risen for me since she died, and the world was so lonely and miserable without her in it. I was vulnerable now, and I would never be invincible again.