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Connie Faust

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Unselfish Mother
By Connie Faust
Thursday, May 08, 2008

Rated "G" by the Author.

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A Mothers' Day tribute for a program she would never see, because the day before Mothers' Day was her last day on earth. You may cry after reading this, so stop now if you don't want that to happen. Or maybe it's just me.

UNSELFISH  MOTHER

     I'd like to present to you my Mother.  Unselfish?  I think she's the one that word was written for.
     When I was young, I did not stop to appreciate her unselfish love.  When she put aside her work to read to us, or to play Hide The Button or Monopoly, I thought all mothers did those things.
     When I was too big to be held, I remember she still held me on her lap sometimes, singing to me.  She made up a special bedtime song for us, singing it to each child by name.  It went like this:
      "Goodnight, dear Connie, goodnight.
        May God watch over you tonight.
I thank Him for keeping you all the day through.
       Goodnight, dear Connie, goodnight to you."

     With my 2 brothers and 2 sisters, I liked to play in our little yard.  But we didn't play the usual yard games.  It had to be "Store," for which mother would supply the groceries.  Or else it was "Tent," when she would struggle with 3 or 4 blankets, trying to secure them over the clotheslines to make us a respectable tent.  Playing "House" in the yard was a favorite, too.  But all our play furniture was kept on the attic, which meant -- yes, Mommy would make several trips up the two flights of stairs to bring down our table, chairs, bureau, crib, etc.  Then many times she would make us a party lunch, cutting sandwiches out with cookie cutters for us.  Usually we would tire of our games quickly.  She knew that we would, and yet she brought down all that furniture, or lugged out all those blankets, or filled the tin tubs with water to make us a swimming pool -- could I doubt my mother's love?
     When I was 7, and hospitalized for a month, Mom never missed a day visiting me, even if she had to walk.  Sometimes she'd get there just after visiting hours had ended.  She would bring me anything my heart desired -- anything from a new game to a jar of spaghetti, still hot, from home.
     Back home again, I was a tyrant in pajamas, confined to bed for months.  But she patiently showered me with love and attention.  If the corner store displayed a new trinket or toy, it was bought for me.  If I requested ice cream, or meat pie, or peanut butter and molasses bread, or one refill after another of pineapple juice, she brought it. 
     She sent for a Tom Mix Straight Arrow Indian Signal Arrowhead Whistle which I had heard advertised on the Tom Mix Show.  It became my signal to blow when I wanted something.  You would think I would have driven her crazy, blowing that whistle for every whim, but she came, and the times that I laughed and said I was "just practicing," she was just as sweet as if I had some dire need.  I guess the truth is that I did have a dire need.  It was for the love of my mother, that unselfish love that gave, and gave, and gave, with no regard for her own weariness.
     Mom always had a love for doing little things to please her children.  Almost every Saturday, we'd get up to find her baking goodies for her family.  She made sure each of us had a family party with one friend for each of our birthdays.  We even had a half-a-birthday party for my little brother Patty one year on my birthday, because it was only halfway to his birthday, and too long for him to wait.  He was the only "summer baby" in the family.
     There were weinie roasts on our special rock on the hill, special little gifts and parties for Valentine's Day, Halloween, and end-of-the-year report cards (if the grades were okay).  In fact, it seems that every time she went shopping, she brought something home for each of us "just because."
     I guess the most outstanding example of my Mom's unselfishness in my life is what happened before my Rheumatic Fever was diagnosed.  Mom told me much later that I was beginning to turn blue.  One doctor had given my parents no hope.  He had stopped in the middle of the course of Penicillin he had been giving me, saying he'd "save it for some little girl it would help."  He'd held my hand and sadly said, "Goodbye, little girl."  It seemed almost certain that I would die, and I had the last rites of the Catholic Church.  But my Mom said she felt overwhelmed with God's peace and she was willing to give her child to God if He wanted to take me then. 
     She is still the same mother.  Before she comes to visit, she calls, and the question is always the same, "What can I bring?" and almost as soon as she arrives, it's "Did you dampen clothes for me to iron?"
     I guess she'll never change.  She's unselfish, loving, and very, very dear.  She's my Mother.

Prologue:

Mothers' Day, 1975 - Marian, the Pastor's wife, worked on the Mothers' Day Program and enlisted my help.  Several people would read their tributes to their mothers, featuring special virtues.  The mothers were not to be told about the tributes until they were called up front at the program.  I wrote this about my Mom, and also wrote songs to be sung between the tributes, writing words about mothers to familiar tunes.
     Mom was so depressed that May, knowing that our Pat had cancer (Pat died several months after Mom did), that I read this to her the week before, hoping to brighten her outlook by expressing my love in this way.
     After she died that Saturday before Mothers' Day, I of course could not take part in the program.  Our sweet niece Debby read the tribute in my place.  My sister-in-law Anita went to the program. 
     The next day was Mothers' Day.  We went to the morning service.  I needed to be there.  I never understood why people stay home from church when someone dies; I needed it more than ever that day.  We left as quickly as we could, so that people would not be talking to us about Mom dying.  It would have been too hard at that point.
     I have always been glad, and grateful to God that I read her tribute to her early.

In case you're wondering, yes, it is making me cry reading over this.  In 1975, I took her death very hard, crying daily for months.  A poem that God gave to me after about 3 months helped me greatly.  It's called "Does Mother Miss Me?" and is posted here on Authors' Den.
     Thank you for staying with me and reading to the end.  I'm happy to share my unselfish mother with you.

 

       Web Site: www.authorsden.com/conniefaust

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Reviewed by Regino Gonzales, Jr. 2/17/2009
Connie,
I feel good knowing about your mother. I have always revered the kind and compassionate. Thanks for sharing. God Bless!

Sincerely,
Regino
Reviewed by Kimberly Jensen 6/4/2008
I strive to be just like your mother! What a sweet story of unselfish love. Thank you for sharing!
Reviewed by Cryssa C 5/14/2008
This brought tears to my eyes... It is my mama's birthday today and I wish that she was alive for me to call her and wish her a special day once again...

What a blessing that you were able to share your tribute with her before she passed away!

Cryssa
Reviewed by Randall Barfield 5/13/2008
What wealth she was! Mine was too. Marvel of a write.
Reviewed by RaeLynn Teller 5/9/2008
I remember my mother once dressing my brother up in her MINK COAT so he could be a bear in a play. Mom has been gone just over a year now and yes, you did get the tears going.
--RaeLynn
Reviewed by Bonnie May 5/9/2008
Oh Connie, thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute. It brought memories back overflowing with love, like lemonade stands, little stores and a tub in the backyard. How lovely painful for you, for I did feel them both through this write. She was a special Mother and you were her special child. LOve ya sis, Bonnie
Reviewed by Felix Perry 5/9/2008
Thank you for sharing a little bit of your world and giving us a glimpse as to how lovely your mother is.

hugs
fee
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 5/8/2008
Very nice write, Connie; brava!

happy Mother's Day to you!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your Tx. friend, Karen Lynn. :D
Reviewed by ROCK-Salt! Proctor 5/8/2008
Quite a Memorial Connie Well Done Rock





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