My Mother

Where can I begin?

My heart is filled with so many warm memories.

One of the earliest dates back to Monticello,

where we made paper dolls and clothes for Barbies.

It's so much easier to be the child than the mother.

What did I put her through?

The thought makes me shudder.

But even so, I do not remember anger,

Just a low-volume voice, with no threat of personal danger.

How I wish I could be

as gentle and kind with those who live with me.

I see her differently now than I did then.

My mother still, but also my friend.

I see adult insecurities which I feel in myself.

The child in all of us, who seeks reassurance and help.

I see romance gone wrong, and can empathize with her pain.

I see victories won, and can celebrate the gain.

Baby steps taken in the storms of night,

Looking to Jesus, our only light.

May I be the example she has been to me,

Exhibiting courage, while uncertainty rages within,

Showing love to my children, especially when they sin.

May I be the eyes through which others can see.

She has always been there for me,

Even when I was a toot.

I wish to return the favor,

by passing on that root.

That I may love my daughter,

and for that matter, my son,

Unconditionally, without merit,

so that when they need to run,

They'll find my arms wide open,

as I have always done.

I love you, Mother.

Thanks for everything.                                     Kathleen

Mother's Day 1999