I was hoping on the five-year anniversary to say that my mother is OK. But that's not the case.

I hope when I tell my mother, 'No, they won't let him out' that I'm telling her the truth.

She asks me if I think he's going to come back and get her. I say, 'No he's never going to be able to get you.' The only thing I can do is offer her that comfort.

She has changed my whole life after my mom passed away; she's like my mother, she is.

But will you not have a house to care for? Meals to cook? Children whining for this or that? Will you have time for the work?" "I'll make time," I promised. "The house will not always be so clean, the cooking may be a little hasty, and the whining children will sit on my lap and I'll sing to them while I work.

If you've never had a mother or a father, you grow up seeking something you're never going to find, ever. You seek it in love and in people and in beauty.