Today's my Amah's birthday. She would've been 84. It's been so long that sometimes I wonder if I didn't just imagine her. My fiction writer's mind must have filled in the gaps of my memory. Surely, she couldn't have been perfect. But I love her. I always will love her no matter how many years pass, fact or fiction.
I was 10 when she died. Now I'm 24. More than half of my life without her. I didn't think I could last this long. I miss her. Even after all these years there would still be nights spent weeping, calling her in the dark. Those nights I'm the ten-year-old Joni again, lost and confused.
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