Loving Memory of
For my Mother
HER PALE BLUE EYES
NEVER A HARSH WORD
HER WONDERFUL SENSE OF
ALWAYS THERE FOR ME
SHE ALWAYS TOLD ME
THERE'S AN EMPTINESS INSIDE
I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE DAY
Mom & Me
Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a house-dress, lawn mower in one hand, and dish-towel in the other. It was the time for fixing things. A curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep.
It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy. All that re-fixing, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.
But then my mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any more.
Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away...never to return. So... While we have it... it's best we love it... And care for it.... And fix it when it's broken..... And heal it when it's sick.
This is true... For marriage.... old cars... children with bad report cards..... Dogs and cats with bad hips.... And aging parents.... And grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it. Some things we keep.
Photo restoration by Filmworks Photography
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