Tony walked over and knelt down beside the bench, looking up at his mother. She looked just as beautiful as he remembered, though quite a bit younger than the last time he'd seen her. It'd been 26 years since the night she died. He held out a shaking hand to take hers. The rosary he'd made for her in elementary school wrapped around his wrist.
"It's me, mama." He cleared his throat and blinked a few times, trying to keep his tears at bay.