Mothers Are Precious

I wanted to write something witty and pretty and bright about mothers. Instead... I give you this.

"She might die," Social Services said, "but we will pay for the expenses." But you took me home anyway.

I had rickets, a deficiency of vitamin D and calcium. You fed me foods I hated. I spit them out. You shoved them back in my mouth. You would not give up.

I became stronger but still could not walk until I was nearly 4-1/2 years old. You were told sunshine would help tremendously and so you carried me outside every chance you got. I was by your side as you hung the clothes out on the line. I was in a wagon as you went out to do the chores. Your determination was fearless.

Because I couldn't engage in activities with other children, you occupied the rest of my time with playing school. I could both read and write by the time I was three... at a third grade level. There were no excuses for 'bad grades.'

On those rare occasions that you decided to have fun, you brought out your accordion and played beautiful music and sang. I would clap my hands and sing too. You were so beautiful to me when you were playing.

My constant ear infections kept you up until all hours. And I remember you rocking me and singing, comforting me and telling me that everything would be all right. I felt safe in your arms.

When I finally got to the point that I began walking, you wouldn't let up. We would go for 'walks' out the back, up into the woods. I couldn't keep up and felt afraid that I might get lost. But there you were coaxing me along, pushing me ever harder. You wouldn't take no for an answer.

As my fifth birthday approached in the sweltering heat, you were readying me for my first day of school. I was so excited. I can still remember the smell of that book bag and the paste we used back then. That old one-room schoolhouse served me well. And my first grade teacher would be a person who would come and go in and out of my life for years to come.

You hugged me when I needed it and whipped my butt when I needed that too. You tolerated zero disrespect. You drove home lessons on right and wrong and you told me I could do anything I set my mind to doing.

When I was stubborn and ill-mannered I faced the consequences. I never had the luxury of having my own room or privacy. We made do with what we had. We wasted nothing. I learned frugality and the benefits of hard work. And all those lessons have bore fruit.

I think sometimes how hard it must have been for you. The country was just coming out of the Depression. If we think the economy is bad now, it was so much worse then.

And yet for the most part, there was food on the table and clothes on our backs. We didn't have much, but then we really didn't want much either. It was a better time, a slower time. One that sticks with you like oatmeal.

I could never bear children. I always felt left out that way. But God in his heaven has his plans. Children for me weren't in those plans. I've always thought I might have been a good Mama. But then, who knows, huh?

Thank you for the lessons learned, the fevers cured, the painstaking determination that you could help me to get well. You saved my life... and you gave me a home. Your sacrifices were many and your complaints few. I am grateful and forever in your debt.

Happy Mother's Day, Mama. I love you.