It’s almost forty years since I’ve had a mother. Many memories of my mom are foggy, others long forgotten. But today I’m remembering how on our birthdays my mother would rock us in the chair and sing an Italian lullaby. Every year. When I got older it became a joke, but still a required tradition. It was funny because my mom and I both knew I was grown up now. David’s an adult. He’s over six feet tall and his mom is barely five feet. He’s way too big and heavy to be sitting in his mother’s lap. She can hardly sing because of his crushing his weight. And the rocking chair— its joints are groaning. But then it turns out you’re never too big to be rocked and loved and comforted by your mother, and that feeling, if you can remember, if you can summon the soothing moment from long ago, you’ve still got your mom.