For those of you new to the blog, let me give you a little background on today’s post: my parents were older when I was born, and my two sisters were teenagers. My dad died when I was only eight months old, and both sisters were married by the time I was four. So it was just Mom and me.
And today is the thirtieth anniversary of her death.
This counted cross stitch that I did for her ‘predates’ Marshall, and she had it proudly hanging in her den from the moment I gave it to her. When I saw this poem, I knew that it perfectly captured the relationship that she and I had. It was difficult to get a good picture of it, so I’ll share the poem below this photo. I don’t know who to give credit to for the poem; a Google search returned nothing. Obviously, the author felt the same way about her mom as I did about mine.
To My Mother
When I grow up, I had always said,
squaring my shoulders and shaking my head,
I’ll do whatever I want to do.
But I always came back for a kiss from you.
When I grew up, I was somewhat stern
and I wondered if you would ever learn
that I was adult and therefore wise,
but I leaned on the love in your steady eyes.
With what true thread of wisdom and dream,
you mended the sails and stitched the seam
of my wayward craft, I cannot know.
I can only write as the swift years ago,
with the tides of time, we have shared together
a lovely mother and daughter weather.
And kept in balance a sweet and fine
ebb and flow of your heart and mine.
Miss you, mom.
~These Days Of Mine~
these days of mine 