"'Love isn't love 'til you give it away' were more than just words to Momma," Leah's voice trembled slightly as she held up two gold halves of a heart locket. "They were etched on her heart deeper than the locket in my hand. They were her life, and all of us who knew her felt that love radiating into ours."

She paused, taking a deep breath. The sound of the distant river and a gentle breeze washed over her, offering a moment of solace that gave her the strength to continue. She turned away from those gathered, as her eyes fixed on the long Georgia pine casket that held her mother.

"Momma, it's days like this I miss you the most. When I was a little girl, I'd tuck my hand into your pocket, hiding behind you. You'd slide your hand over mine, whispering for me to put on my rose-colored glasses and reassuring me that everything would be okay. It still strikes a chord in my spirit remembering the feel of your skin when your hand slid over mine as I helped you wear your half of this locket for the last time. It was my last glimpse of you in this world-and my last act as your daughter. Your final touch would reassure me, even then, that it would be okay. In these moments of uncertainty, I yearn for your presence and that reassurance. When all answers seem lost, I know my thoughts and memories are all I have. I've lost my rose-colored glasses, Momma, and now I see the world as it is – so dark and full of shadows."

"But you'll never be a shadow in my heart. So, as I stand here today with so many people who loved and were loved by you. I'm not sure what words to say that haven't already been said by others so much more eloquently. And, as much as anyone here, I remember your dislike for goodbyes. You'd always hold each of us as close as you could within your arms and simply say, 'Til your love holds me again.'"

Tears welled in Leah's eyes, their sting a reflection of the deep ache in her soul. "So Momma, today I stand before you, filled with fear, but also with fearless love. I will always love you, until your love holds me again," she whispered, placing a single white rose on the casket as she stepped away from the front of the casket and turned into the embrace of her father.

Leah lay on her bed, tracing patterns on the ceiling with her eyes. The last of the guests had departed and she heard her father moving around downstairs, the occasional soft clink of dishes as he sorted through the casseroles, cards, and flowers scattered throughout the house. The blur of the past week, culminating in the graveside ceremony that morning, weighed heavier on her than the goose-down blanket that covered to her neck.

Her fingers touched the intertwined necklaces resting on her chest. Memories of her last day with her mother, their final goodbye a week before, flooded back–a bittersweet mix of pain and peace. Five long, grueling years had finally ended.

For Leah, the wake felt like an eternity. Exhausted, her body ached for a resolution that never came. People spoke of her mother's love and caring heart, a testament to her life. Yet, it cast a shadow that seemed to engulf her own existence. It held a gut- wrenching beauty–each story, each smile, each hug a duality of comfort and fresh sting. A wound that scabbed over, only to be ripped open again, denying healing. The stark finality was laid bare with each well-wish and embrace.

"Your mother was beautiful," they'd say. "Your mother was kind. Your mother was brilliant."

"Your mother was..."
Was.
A voice from downstairs rattled her thoughts.
"You can't let her just run wild. That girl needs structure," her aunt, Caroline, was saying, her tone filled with tight-lipped Lone Star judgment.

"Not now, sis," came her father's tired reply.

"If not now, when?" Her voice was firm, unrelenting. "From what I've seen these past two weeks, she comes and goes whenever she pleases. You need to move to Houston. Give you both some grounding."

Leah's jaw tightened as she rose, slipped out of her room, and descended the steps in silence. She despised her aunt–a fake do-gooder who thrived on controlling everyone around her, weaving them into her net of so-called propriety and rules that she expected the family to follow. She lived in a kind of self-righteous oblivion, blissfully unaware of how little her judgments mattered.

"She just lost her mom." Brett tensed his shoulders. "She's got a job, she's getting good grades, and with all we've lived through, she's been nothing but responsible. I'd advise you to stay in your lane."

"My lane?" Caroline balked with offense. "This is family, Brett, and that is my lane. I'm worried about you, too. Living like a ghost out here, either hiding at work or holed up in your room."

"I'm doing fine, Caroline, and so is Leah."

"Oh, I see," Caroline continued, her voice rising. "It's too bad you didn't take my advice six years ago. If you'd had a backbone, we'd be in a completely different place now."

Leah simmered in her skin at the bottom of the staircase. She remembered her aunt's coldness when her mother was first diagnosed, how she hadn't visited until her mother's final days, arriving more to push her agenda than to help. And she hated that her father, as usual, felt forced to respond, caught in Caroline's web.

"What's best now is for you two to live closer to family." Her long gold fingernail pointed at her brother. "Tomball is ideal and the Corkers' house is coming on the market soon. I could even get you a pre-option."

"We are not moving to Tomball," Leah's voice cut through the room, startling Caroline.

She whirled on her heels, her face taut. "That's not your decision, young lady."

"Last I checked, it isn't yours." Leah's eyes were hard and unblinking.

Caroline seethed with indignation. "You're going to let her talk to me like that?"

Brett stretched his worn hands on the counter. "She's right, Caroline. This is my decision–and Leah's. And I'd appreciate it if you could respect that."

"Respect?" Caroline's voice was cold. "Since the seventies, you've done nothing but forget where you came from, Brett."

Brett gripped the counter, his eyes narrowing. "Caroline, I'd watch your words."

Leah, her anger mounting, took a step forward, her heart pounding. Watching her words was the last thing she planned on doing. "I know exactly where I come from, and I know exactly where I'm going–and it sure as hell isn't Texas."

"Leah..." Her dad's frustration at both of them had hit the breaking point.

Leah snatched her keys from the brass-plated holder and headed for the door.

"You come back here," Caroline barked.

Leah held her aunt's gaze for a moment longer before spinning toward the door. "You're not my mom, and you never will be," her face flashed with anger as she yanked open the door and slammed it behind her with all her might. She dashed to her car, cranked the stereo, and sped off into the night. 

(They Say It's a River - Available Now on Amazon  &  BarnesandNoble.com)