time that she was beautiful. No, at this period that she was her own
dear self was enough; to me she was in face and form a person so apart
and so unique that I would not have dreamed of comparing her with
any one else. From her whole being there emanated such a joyousness,
security and tenderness, and so much goodness that from thence was born
my understanding of faith and prayer.

I would that I could speak hallowed words to the first blessed form
that I find in the book of memory. I would it were possible that I could
greet my mother with words filled with the meaning I wish to convey.
They are words which cause bountiful tears to flow, but tears fraught
with I know not how much of the sweetness of consolation and joy, words
that are ever, and in spite of everything, filled with the hope of an
immortal reunion.

And since I have touched upon this mystery that has had such an
influence upon my soul, I will here set down that my mother alone is the
only person in the world of whom I have the feeling that death cannot
separate me. With other human beings, those whom I have loved with all
my heart and soul, I have tried to imagine a hereafter, a to-morrow
in which there shall be no to-morrow; but no, I cannot! Rather I have
always had a horrible consciousness of our nothingness--dust to dust,
ashes to ashes. Because of my mother alone have I been able to keep
intact the faith of my early days. It still seems to me that when I
have finished playing my poor part in life, when I no longer run in the
overgrown paths that lead to the unattainable, when I am through amusing
humanity with my conceits and my sorrows, I will go there where my
mother, who has gone before me, is, and she will receive me; and the
smile of serenity that she now wears in my memory will have become one
of triumphant realization.