Bobbie is my Mother. Bobbie is me. I was named after her, though they wouldn’t let me tell my friends to call me Bobbie. “Too confusing” my parents said. Though I have never gone by that name, I cherish the blessing of having been named after her.
For several years toward the end of her very long life, my sweet Mother would make notes, send notes in get well and birthday cards, and send letters to family and friends at Christmas time. She put notes on calendars, which she saved. She also said that she could write a book just from her calendar notes. But she never did.
This is for you, Mother. Except this is not on paper, thank goodness.