Mysterious. Intense. Beautiful. Earth-shattering.

It Seemed a Good Idea at the Time

"It was her 16th birthday. The pizzas I had delivered to school for lunch were well received, but not so much the six-piece brass ensemble from the Barron High School marching band blaring Happy Birthday." —Name Changed, Witness Protection Program

"There was that morning at Girl Scout camp when we moms came out for the flag ceremony, only there was no flag, just mom-size underwear flapping up there. Not cute little underwear, I might add." —Bonny Eads

"We were in the restroom at JFK airport around Christmas; 20 people in line. My 83-year-old mother got out her harmonica and started playing Joy to the World. There was stunned silence until a woman came dancing out of her stall singing, ‘… let heaven and nature sing …’ " —Leoma Lovegrove

"I made Kyra sit still for hours on end wearing frilly pinafores as I tried to paint my idea of the perfect portrait. She’s pretty, but she’s definitely not a ‘girly girl.’ It was a terrible mistake to portray her in a way that didn’t suit her at all." —Fran Bussing

Kyra responds: "I’m so proud of my mom’s art. We made a home art studio for her, and (giggling) there are at least seven paintings of me in there."

My Sarah

"She was the reserved one in class, but she wore a purple floppy hat and gold sequined Doc Martens boots to middle school and danced in silver sequins at high school football games. She picked oranges alongside migrant farmworkers and helped spearhead the University of Florida Student Farmworker Alliance. She tutors children in danger of falling through the cracks. She makes gourmet feasts for her friends, and professionally she raises huge amounts of money to help change lives. If I squinch up my eyes, I can see my mother who died so young—the grandmother Sarah never got to meet—so pure of heart and so willing to see only the good in everyone. She’s all grown up, capable and wise. Nevertheless, in my eyes she is forever my baby girl, who raises her little arms to be picked up and says, ‘Hold you!’ " —Karen T. Bartlett