Margo was 49 years old when I was born, just four years older than what I am today. The official story is that I was born shortly around midnight. By the time my father could go to my grandparents' house to tell them of my arrival, everybody was asleep. They didn't hear the doorbell and didn't know about their second grandchild until the following morning.
But in my heart, I know that Margo had dreamed of me that night.
We became inseparable.
I believe she and I had cycled through many lives before. This spin lasted 43 years: Margo departed on June 10, 2006. I can still feel her presence in my heart. I wear her apron when I cook.
This is our story.
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