A Tribute to My Mother ~

Storms at Night

Evenings, or during the night
when rain would pellet our roof
with lightning flashing all around us
making the curtains swell
with the thud of thunder,
Mother would enter our room
and sit on the bed
with the four of us
to light a candle she held
in her hand—
Mother, once a little girl on Brady Street,
now sitting with us
sovereign, like a mighty angel,
our stalwart protectress,
holding the bursting sky at bay,
gently taming bolts of harm
calming roaring thunder,
subduing a raging storm
while we sat there—
silent and awed.

Source

Mother ~

Came across this obituary in the newspaper this morning:


"For the world she was a nobody, for me she was the world. I had to let my mother go. My love and gratitude for her will only die when I die."

Mothers ~

On the battlefield

the wounded and dying men

cried out to God —

or to their mothers . . .

Mothers of the Fallen ~

How the pain of loss and its sting comes creeping into the daily life of 

the living mothers

 of the fallen soldiers. And they sit alone, suffering.

Poetic Tribute

Piano Pleasure ~

In those last years, when I would play the piano Mother would come into the living room in her wheel-chair and listen.

One of the greatest pleasures I can think of now would be to play, knowing that she was sitting there listening.

Flight: Detroit, Michigan to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania ~

She sat beside me, wife of a Marine, mother of two teenagers eager to join. She was very concerned about that, but knew they would be enlisting soon. Her eyes filled. Said she was so happy that her husband had made it through Vietnam.

What Young Mothers Do ~

. . . and yesterday he learned to submerge!

All Saints Day ~ 2006

All Saints Day. I know a lot of them right around me. Like the mother who took her 40 year old son to the grave last week. The same mother who years ago lost one of her children when a bookshelf fell on top of him. That saddened woman who can never stop mourning. Quiet saints like she show us how to go on trusting in God. . . And maybe these too.

A Compliment ~

There were two one-year-olds in the waiting room at the doctor's this morning. Their mothers had to wait a full two hours. The children played on the floor the whole time. The one wimpered quietly and wanted to go home, the other tried to humor him by playing with the balls on an incline plane or by setting up blocks. They got along nicely and the patient young mothers had a chance to try out all their newly-learned motherly competencies, in public -- and looked on with pride.

Gift from Heaven ~

What does a first time grandfather say when his daughter, the little baby girl I used to play with on the soft carpet in the living room, has given birth to her own baby now? She kept waiting for me to say something on the phone. . .