The title of the post contains the ending of my mother's vow to Paul -- whom she met in a ballroom dance class -- as they lit candles honoring the spouses they'd each lost to cancer in years past.

You had a long road getting here, Mom, and now that I've met him, I can see how happy he makes you.

(Backdated one day to her wedding day, since I couldn't edit photos in the hotel room.)

"I've wanted to do this for a long time now," she said. But, it went without saying, she couldn't arrange for this kind of surgery until she had insurance that would cover it. Despite the fact that it was obviously medically necessary.

"I think it's a good idea," I said.

"Yeah. I mean, it'll do a lot for me, both physically and …"

"Self-image?"

"Yeah."

For as long as I've had the privilege to know her, Eleanor's made jokes about her breasts. Taglines like "Eleanor: the breasts of three women!" and jokes about her bras abounded. Deep down, though, I know she was frustrated with the way she looked, and handled it the best way she knew how—through humor.

Re: my previous entry, 'A hair rock band, and a red-haired girl'—not everyone appears in my life, stays for a while, and completely vanishes shortly thereafter.

Welcome home, Amy, I say to myself. Look around. This is where you belong, whether or not you want to admit it.