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My Mother’s Garden

Her heart ‘was’ like her garden, old-fashioned, quaint and sweet

With here a wealth of blossoms, and there a still retreat.

Sweet violets are hiding, we know as we pass by,

And lilies, pure as angel thoughts, are opening somewhere nigh.

And in that quiet garden-the garden of her heart-

Songbirds are always singing their songs of cheer apart.

And from it floats forever, o’ercoming sin and strife,

Sweet as the breath of roses blown, the fragrance of her life.”

by Alice E. Allen


This is always the week I think of my mom a lot, her quietness when it was necessary, her non-complaining ways, her very subtle sense of humor, her valuable and honorable teachings. She was of a generation long gone, just like her daughters three. We all are honorable, straight, and true, carrying some quiet dignity that we learned from mom. We have a deep sense of what is right, what the true meaning of respect means. We oftentimes carry our hurt inside, keep it locked up a bit and plod on. But tears come easily, just like with our mom. We know deep inside the meaning of tradition, the true meaning of honor-bound, promises, and sticking together. We are now miles, truly heavenly miles, apart from mom now. I will always cry a little on Mother’s Day, wishing I could tell my mom, once again, what a world of difference she made in my life. How her nurturing and teaching has stuck with me all these years. I wish I could send her the lilies that she loved, make a special card for her, call her and wish her a special day. When I would visit home we would share a beer; our German heritage plowing through. We would talk of days gone by, how much family means, and of all the sweet grandchildren I have. I miss my mom always, but this week the memories sting a bit more. Holding her frail hand as she got older was a bit hard. She was a trooper all her life, setting the ways of an independent woman long before the world even knew what that meant. Her hips hurt, her ears didn’t work, her eyes were not clear anymore. She cross country skied into her 80’s, she invested in stocks until the return was limited, she read the Wall Street Journal as long as she could. Oh my how I wish for just one more hug, one more beer shared, one more whisper in her good ear. I will toast a beer high for my dear mom, and remember her for everything she did for me. God bless you dear mother. Spring is finally here.

  1. 05/03/2011 at 3:55 pm

    What a beautiful post. Your mother sounds like she was a truly amazing woman. I am sorry she is no longer with you.

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