Each time I bend low to scoop up those silver pans that sit beneath my oven I remember her. Although they are worn, scratched and old they are seasoned with love. The tape there on the sides, nearly worn off now, marks her having been here on this earth. I don't want it to go away just like I didn't want her to leave. The pots sit across the kitchen stacked in a cupboard. Each time I feel the weight of them I remember her. How she was strong in her faith and sure of heaven to come.