The memories I have of my mother are all so good.

So good I can't imagine I'm remembering things right. Nothing else has ever been so universally positive, but I can't remember anything bad about her. She was gentle and nurturing. She was an amazing cook, a good listener, sewed as well as a machine, and had the patience of a saint.
The thing I remember most about her was her faith. It was unshakably deep and profoundly loving. She did her best to instill that in us, but she wasn't around long enough to make much of an impact.
Tamara only plays at it because it gets her ahead with her husband's friends, and, aside from that, it isn't the same church. I don't know if mother would care. Father certainly would.
Valentyna stayed with the church, but she isn't her. The Val I know doesn't seem particularly faithful.
I never had much of a mind for it before, maybe I never saw the point? Lately I have been falling asleep with the sound of father chanting The Prayer in my dreams, over and over, until the darkness covers my thoughts and smothers me asleep.