I hold my small face up and catch the snowflakes with outstretched tongue and wide- open mouth. Giggling and whirling, my arms held out; I catch a glimpse of my mother’s face at the window, watching me and smiling. I wave to her. She’s so pretty. Her eyes are sparkling like the unseasonable snowflakes that float down through a ray of sun that suddenly broke through the single dark cloud. My mommy. I love you, Mommy. Did I tell her, does she know?
Mother’s Day. Egypt , Arkansas . 1956
I lay my head on her knee and she strokes my hair while I cry. Boy’s can be so mean. I didn’t know that I was an ugly duckling—that’s what they called me. My clothes were ugly, too and hung on me like a scarecrow’s rags. Is it true, Mommy? Am I ugly? They said the card I made was junk. She pulls me into her lap and holds my head against her breast until I don’t feel ugly anymore. She presses the Mother’s Day card that I made for her to her lips and I know she likes it. And she kisses my head as we both laugh. Boys are too stupid to understand. I wish I were pretty like you, Mommy. I love you so. Did I tell her, does she know?
Mother’s Day. Hoxie , Arkansas . 1961
I hold my mother’s hand and look up at her as we stand beside the coffin. She’s crying. I too, begin to cry. Not because I totally understand what is happening, but because it makes me sad to see my mother cry. At nine-years-old my little sister was too young to die—struck down by a car whose driver never saw her. And I at fourteen, through tears too heavy to stop, look into my mother’s sad face. Oh, Mom. I love you so. Did I tell her, does she know?
Mother’s Day. Walnut Ridge , Arkansas 1988
Her coffin is lowered into its final resting place. A sadness too profound for words fills my very soul. My beautiful mother will have to cry no more. I pray for strength. Please, God, watch over her and keep her. She is my mother and I love her so. But did I tell her? Please, God, she must know. I love you, Mother.
This Mother’s Day, Whitaker Cemetery , Walnut Ridge, Ar. May 13, 2007 .
It will have been nineteen years since I last gave my mother a Mother’s Day card. I will place flowers on her grave. Remember your mother on this day and, please, tell her you love her.
Sandra E. Graham, author, Amos Jakey, published by American Book Publishing. Visit her website http://www.sandragraham-articles-books.com
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