Mom with Blackie on the Homestead by Grandma 1930

Mom

Mom, you were a wonder woman,

Who never got your chance.

Who learned you were with child,

Before your senior class dance.

Dad, who swept you off your feet,

Was a strong and capable guy,

Left high school without finishing,

Over a history teacher’s lie.

Though you were salutatorian,

In a class of twenty one,

You couldn’t go to college,

With a baby soon to come. 

Dad had medically failed,

To go fight the evil Hun.

Worked in a creamery,

Set bowling pins for little mon.

You rented a little shack,

Behind a farmer’s barn,

With twin babies to care for,

While Dad’s 22 stopped rats’ harm.

Soon in a drafty farmhouse,

Huge wood stove for food and heat,

You cooked and canned wonderfully,

Two hungry boys’ wonderful treat.

Brought us through childhood diseases,

With the skill of a licensed nurse.

And through Dad’s need for cars,

With a banker’s skill with our purse.

Dad was a truck driver most of his life,

Mom, you worked as a cleaning lady,

A shoe factory worker, a waitress,

And school lunch helper, too.

Kept all seven of us from financial strife.

Mom catered large gatherings,

Of family at home and the lake,

Her nature was counsel and nurture,

Sacrificing with more give than take.

With four boys off to college,

Our sister married and safe,

Mom retired with Dad at 57,

Winter Texans off for to take.

Twenty years of golf, cards and bowling.

Leisure cool summers at the lake,

Famous for your baked bread,

Good times with friends you’d partake.

You wrote thousands of letters,

In your impeccable cursive style,

Communicator between family and friends,

From snail mail, to email with wile.

You were by Dad’s side for four months,

As he struggled with a hospital bug,

Gradually lost his resolve, benefits and died.

Alone, soldiered on in your apartment, snug.

Six years later, three mini-strokes came,

Aphasia and loss of hearing wasn’t her blame,

Mom’s last five years were nothing but pain,

So, your death was a blessing when it came.

Copyright 2025 © Ronald W. Hull

5/8/25

Mom’s recipes in her own handwriting

and more pictures of her life

You can read and print this poem at my website here.