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Growing up, my mother was like a lighthouse to me: Her light was always on, a beacon guiding me through the daily adventures and the bumps and bruises of childhood and adolescence. At the end of the day, she was always there, welcoming me to the safe harbor that was my home.
Years later, when I left for other places and the home lights were but a distant flicker, I would remind myself of Mom’s words. And often, they would light my path.
“Always make your bed, and remember, if the sheet is crumpled, the bedspread won’t look straight either.”
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