of each of us that remained lodged in their presence. Where they lived didn’t seem to matter as they had long moved from either of the homes we grew up in. There remained a sense of belonging, an aura of as assimilation that seemed to occur during visits.
And when Mom left us, that particular experience departed with her.
And so we became orphans....My Mother was a truly wonderful person, all familial prejudice aside. She adored my Dad, loved her...
children and provided us with a home where it was relatively easy to find happiness. My childhood memories of her always seem to place her in the kitchen where she spent countless hours in the planning preparation and put-away of a seemingly endless stream of meals. Initially I
through it in 3.7 seconds without missing a word, particularly if there was sweet corn on the menu.
Later as my significantly older brothers began to have busy lives with sports, part-time jobs and girlfriends and such while my Dad moved into positions that led him to often work long hours our mealtimes went from the obligatory thrice a day events to an ongoing parade of seatings that rivaled the scene of a hectic bistro.
And my Mom handled it with the deftness of a gifted juggler not only preparing provisions wrought from an infinite inventory imbedded in her many cupboards, but individualizing these repasts according to the desire of the diner. At the time it seemed like no big deal but in retrospect it makes sense why so many of my recollections find her kitchen-bound. The lady was running an all-purpose dining establishment with no prep cooks, wait staff, or bussers.
Once while in college and in the midst of a road trip whose purpose escapes me three friends and I popped in on my parents around 10:30 on a Saturday night on our way back to Mt. Pleasant. My Mom asked (of course) if we were hungry and while my buddies were polite enough to defer I was famished and replied in the affirmative. Mom proceeded to head to the kitchen where she prepared us burgers, hash browns, salads and tossed in a little ice cream for dessert. We wolfed down the vittles, expressed our gratitude and soon motored on back toward campus.
My friends were astounded. They could not stop talking about the experience, as if they had just witnessed something extraordinary and the story was retold many times to equally amazed listeners.
To me it was no big deal I guess. It was after all, what my Mom did. It was a part of how she expressed her love and if there was one thing Mom had down better than anyone I’ve ever known it was her ability to love. Though never attending college she had a PhD in love and practiced it like a master.
So on this Mother’s Day I honor her and all the wonderful mothers I have known with a few words written by those who have said it better than I could ever dream to.
“I don't know what it is about food your mother makes for you, especially when it's something that anyone can make - pancakes, meat loaf, tuna salad - but it carries a certain taste of memory.” -Mitch Albom
An ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy. ~Spanish Proverb
Any mother could perform the jobs of several air traffic controllers with ease. ~Lisa Alther
My mother had a slender, small body, but a large heart — a heart so large that everybody’s joys found welcome in it, and hospitable accommodation. ~Mark Twain
Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother. ~Oprah Winfrey
The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness. ~Honoré de Balzac
All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his. ~Oscar Wilde
“Behind all your stories is always your mother's story. Because hers is where yours begin.” -Mitch Albom
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