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January 16, 2009

She was thirty-eight years old when she died. Her name was Lola.

She was a great woman in all senses, what I mean is that she was very tall, well-built and a really trustworthy person.

Sometimes when she wore her high-heeled shoes, she looked taller than my father. She was fashionable, more than me, and vain, she never went out without her lipstick on. Always elegant.

Her blond curly hair made her look younger. She had no wrinkles, because of her soft skin and her beauty creams.

I have her bracelet, which she always wore.. My father gave it to her as a present when they were engaged and, sometimes, when I touch it, it sounds, this sound make me remember her, walking and talking to me with the affectionate voice of a mother. This is still in my mind and in my heart.

She was always showing her affection to us, my brother and me, always kissing us.

She was honest, reliable and a kind person.

Nowadays as an adult woman that I am I realise what an approachable person she was. I remember how cheerful and good-humored she was. You could find her always smiling.

Moreover, Lola was also intelligent and creative, independent and open-minded. Owner of her own business, a hard-working woman.

She taught me more things than she ever imagined and I will always remember her not only as my mother, but as a mirror to look at myself and a person from whom following my steps in life.

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