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Without tenses

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handwriter

handwriter

Norway

May 10, 2013

More entries: Half-Wit (3), Come Home Son, Life Is A Risk, Words Are Not Action, JOY, Here's a shot of me doing my one--and only one--yearly exercise (1), Indeed A Higher Law of Justice, Gotcha! (1), A Belated "I'm Sorry", The Fruits of Our Labor?

View all entries from Without tenses >

08:43 AM May 10 2013

handwriter

handwriter
Norway

Dear Mother,

 

I know that I have said this before, "I love you."  What makes this time different is that you are not here for me to tell you this in person.  It has been one year today that God must have found that He needed your service and love somewhere else.  Anyway, I thought to drop you a few lines; sharing with you how I am feeling.  I know that through the years I hadn’t always acted or done as maybe you would have preferred, and it could be that I would have saved myself a lot of pain and grief had I followed your counsel. 

I don’t remember so much when I first came to be, but of those early years that I do remember, I remember that times hadn’t been so kind to you.  The hands of fate had taken father long before I had had a chance to remember his face.   I remember that whenever you spoke of him that you had always spoken of him as though he had been a loving husband and father, but the truth is, I really don’t recall so much now of what you had said.  What I do remember, and that now has proven to be a support to me whenever I feel as though life is against me, and that I can’t continue on, is that whenever times had been rough that you would hold me close and we would dream together of better days.

Vivid is the image of you standing around the corner of the kitchen crying.  You had been crying to see your baby having to eat scraps that you had managed to find in the alley out behind a neighborhood café.   But as I remember, the food on my plate had always looked as though it were food fit for royalty.  At times, I would pass by your bedroom door and hear you praying through tears, asking God to please help feed your baby.

I remember that you would never cry in front of me – when with me, you always had acted as though life was beautiful – I guess that you had to be strong for me.  I never once heard you complain about how unfair life was.

Many times when I would come home from school crying because the other kids had been so cruel with me because I was different from them, you would hold me close and comfort me with a sweet lullaby.   The words do not come to me now, but the comfort that they had given me is as sharp as it had been then.

I remember once that we had passed a window display of beautiful dresses, and that I had thought that I had caught a brief spark of delight in your eyes – maybe what I had seen had been some distant memory of when maybe you had been dancing with father in a beautiful dress.  I never told you this, but I had had dreams of seeing you in that dressing dancing in a soft moonlight.

Now the years have passed and gone, and I am here with my own family now.  Whenever I see my children lying there asleep with soft smiles on their angel faces, I think of you and how your  smile use to give me comfort. 

Mother, I miss you so.  I hope that wherever you are that you have enough to eat, and that you have pretty dresses to wear.   Happy Mother’s Day.