For carrying me in your womb, and for your love. Thank you. I was only three years old when you were taken away from me. I asked God why. I pleaded for a reason. Nights I sat on my bed and cried, fighting to recapture the memories of you and I, or at least a mental picture of your beautiful face, but there were none. Why did you have to go? Even now I ponder this profound question. A bastard child. No mother. No father. I look at old photos of my youth and remember the mental pain no child should have to endure and I cry for that young boy; for that child trying to find his way through the world. I cry for him because no one else will; I shed tears for him because he was lost and had no outlet for his pain. One day he will see them again: his mother and grandmother. The women in his life that he lost, reunited once more. Until then, mom I love you and I need you more than ever. I swear I will never forget you and I will always carry you in my heart. Mom if you can hear me, I love you.