The tip of her tongue pressed firmly to her upper lip as she pumped the treadle on her sewing machine.
Flinging her hands about, holding the ever present cup of coffee, as she chatted with her friends and, yet, the coffee remained perfectly contained waiting for her.
Her voice unapologetically belting out disharmonious tones as she hung out the wash.
Carefully measuring the small hand of her granddaughter to make a pair of mittens.
Surrounded by pots, cups, figurines and plates of clay, her head bent over her work, delicately applying the paint brush.
Finding her sitting on the front porch with the newest baby brother, waiting for us girls to tell of our first day at our new school.
Knowing it is her voice I hear whenever I bake bread, reminding me to feed the yeast.
Detouring on my way home after school to the job training site, so we could ride the bus home together.
Catching a shadow of her face whenever I smile in a mirror.
Believing in tomorrows, the power of faith and the importance of a hug.
If all you relive is pain and fear you lose the bits where she was the best mom.
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| Ruth Jane Nelson April 1938 - December 1996 |
2 comments:
I sit crying and remembering your Mama. What clear insight. I am so touched.
Thanks, Kelley. Sometimes it may seem hard to find the God in all people...when we try it is worth the journey. love to you.
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