As we talked, I finished the coffee mom had poured for me. I could feel its warmth on my hands. The mug nestled close and becoming a memory of a beautiful day. It was Día de Muertos and we talked of the people who had passed. Her parents and brother, buried in the small family cemetery just across her pasture, I am certain were listening to us. I caught her up on my daughter’s week of school and we chatted about my sister who lives in another state. She told me about the book on tape she’s listening to- reading at night has become hard on her eyes. There was no strife, just love and simple conversation. In these days where she often mentions lapses of memory or joints hurting, it was lovely to simply have a time with no concerns. Those moments are always sacred, but I know will be more so as the next years pass us by.