My mother…how do I begin to describe such a blessing from God. She like my Father (deceased) are giants in my life. Mother gave birth to 5 girls and 2 boys and I’m second in line of this stair step family. Only 5’1” in height, she was the disciplinary in our home. When Mother told you to do something, you better or somebody was gonna get it!
There was no talking back, mumbling under your breath or rolling of the eyes in her camp. This midget sergeant Mom was from the old school. Mother meant what she said and said what she meant!
As I sit reminiscing of those days, I can’t help but giggle as I’m reminded of the time I plucked flowers from Mrs. Long yard. Back in those days, if an adult saw you doing something wrong, they could reprimand you. Well, by the time I arrived home, Mrs. Long had called my Mother and you guessed it… punishment was waiting.
I recall making that slow walk towards the back door, sniffing with each step and tears flooding my little face.
As I opened the worn painted green kitchen door, I stare at the walnut tree that aligns our chain linked fence.
I never liked that tree anyways, but at any point, my job was to get a nice limb, skin the thing and then place it in my Mothers hands. I needed a miracle that day and that’s when I had a flash back!
I could see the Mothers of the church on their knees, praying for Jesus to show up and help! They would testify that HE was a very present help in the time of trouble as well as being an on time God. It was worth I thought!
When my Mother snatched me, I began to yell with everything in me: “JJJJesus!” Mother and I was going round and round in circles as she held me with one arm and that limb was being guided to my bottom with the other. When she finally let go, I was still stuttering the name of Jesus but HE never came. I was about 10 years, and didn’t understand Proverbs 13:24. “He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him.”
While my siblings were playing with their friends and doing school activities, I was attached to my Mother’s side. After my parents divorced, I continued to spend time with my Mother and she began to teach me how to crochet afghans, sew quilts, paint ceramics and bake pies from scratch.
When I got my drivers license, we drove everywhere together in search for new ceramics shops to purchase green ware to bake in our kiln or rise early on Saturday mornings to hit the garage sales. We always had a great time together and often times while riding in the car, we’d sing gospel hymns along the way.
About 8 years ago, Dr. Forge informed me that Mother had Dementia. He said she needed someone to move in with her because she showed signs of memory loss. I had a nice apartment, living the single life and enjoying my privacy.
I was the only one available. Honestly, I struggled with giving up my freedom, and doing what I wanted…when I wanted to. A sacrifice had to be made and like my Mother who made countless sacrifices for her children, I now had to make it for her.
I’ve noticed a look that tells me she’s far from me, and oftentimes repeats the same questions. Then there are times when she’s childlike and times she’s very mean. She doesn’t know her own home, or items she use to be fond of. Her children rarely come to see her and it breaks my heart.
Times I shared with her or no longer stored in her memory. The roles have reversed and she’s now the child and I’m the parent. After 8 years of care, all of our yesterdays together are slowly fading. Even my name, my Mother rarely calls.
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