Today would be my mother’s 80th birthday. I think of her every day, nearly every hour, but today I wonder, I wonder how she would look, how would she sound – I wonder how our relationship would have evolved by now – me at 57 and she at 80? There are seemingly volumes of words and lessons I have at my disposal from the 43 years I knew her and I try to keep them handy for I am discovering they were all messages from God really. The things your mother tells you are so pure – there is no ulterior motive, nothing that will mislead you, nothing self-serving, just pure love spilling out to you and giving you their wisdom to take and use to help you in this life. Ok, here’s the crazy part – I still can connect with her. I could sit and write all afternoon about these times and instances and one day I will – just for myself, my memory, in case it begins to fade. I am certain the spirit remains.
I miss my mother‘s physical presence, however. I miss going places with her, having coffee with her, going to her house for Thanksgiving and Christmas, watching her brush Elizabeth’s hair, and hearing her tell me “how proud I would be of those boys one day”. One quiet afternoon with her in the house I grew up in telling her about my life and hanging on to every word she spoke…that would be heaven.
You know, they say when you lose your mother, you lose your historian – true. There are holes in my history that will never be filled because only she knows. It is especially difficult and evident while raising my own daughter – I want to ask, “Did I think that or do that” – no one knows but her. And beyond that, no one has the capacity to care as she does. Others come in a close second, but no one can take her place. I am convinced it is a higher love that is eternal.
I suppose this entry is a bit soppy, but it is where I am at this moment, this moment of tribute and remembrance. To continue in this soppy vein, I have listed a few great quotes about mothers – I wish I had an original to share but these will do just fine…
If you have a mom, there is nowhere you are likely to go where a prayer has not already been.
Mother – that was the bank where we deposited all our hurts and worries.
T. DeWitt Talmage
I cannot forget my mother. She is my bridge. When I needed to get across, she steadied herself long enough for me to run across safely.
All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother.
God could not be everywhere, so he created mothers.
This is Elizabeth’s vanity – the mirror to the left was my mother’s, the glass container was a gift to me from my mother, and the perfume Elizabeth wears was also my mother’s favorite. Elizabeth took this picture a while ago but it seemed to be a divine fit for this post.