I have a camshaft sensor fault in my truck. It makes all the other things run in order. Now it runs really rough when it idles. My mom is in a state of idle. She can sit in a wheelchair. But her life sensor has become faulty. She doesn’t run right. There is very little of my mom left, nothing really that I knew all my life as her. I think she knows me, sometimes, and sometimes knows my name. I can see it in her eyes when all things are clicking correctly, twinkling clarity I call it, a momentary glimpse that all is there. But it's gone as quick as it comes. She is 100% my mom, but only a little percentage of herself. How do I have her in my life? The way she is!!! I don’t know if she experiences happiness. She had very little of it growing up, and so she struggled to be able to experience it when she was my mom. It wasn’t that she wasn’t content or fulfilled in her day-to-day, but her years to 16 were surely scarred by unhappiness and regret. Her greatest trait was that she worked all the time, kept us spotless, her home the same, and her life as well. She was a good Baptist but a greater Christian. I like to think I was her favorite; she would tell me, “You were the one I prayed for, and God gave me you.” Years later, telling me her memory of my teenage years, she would say, “Lee, often was the nights I would walk the back yard praying for the Lord to take you home or me one.” Eventually, He will take us both home to be with him. My mom has a life sensor fault. She is my mom.
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