Mother, mom, ma, mamma, mommie, or mum…..I called my mother “mother” as did my sister. My brothers called her “mom”. When I was a little girl, I called her “mommie”.
This beautiful mother quote found at Cracker Barrel resonates with me.. “Mother…she not only gives us life, she teaches our souls to sing”.
The passage reminds me of another quote I found on our annual mother-daughter summer jaunt. After visiting the Field of Dreams in Dyersville, Iowa, in 2006, we stopped at Country Junction Restaurant. The perfect sentiment to honor my mother, our trip and our precious time together was embroidered on small pieces of red and tan gingham and displayed in a rustic frame:
“All that I am or hope to be I owe to my mother”—Abe Lincoln
A Mother’s Perspective
Then we have a mother’s perspective in the following powerful quotes: “Before you were conceived I wanted you. Before you were born I loved you. Before you were here an hour, I would die for you. This is the miracle of love.”—Maureen Hawkins
“When you were small and just a touch away, I covered you with blankets against the cold night air. But now that you are tall and out of reach, I fold my hands and cover you with prayer.”—Dona Maddux Cooper.
My Mother’s Day Ritual
This is my 11th Mother’s Day without her. She passed away on July 1, 2009, less than four weeks after the above family photo. Precious memories of my dear mother sustain me today along with a prayer and poem ritual. With folded hands, I send her a prayer: “Thank you for teaching my soul to sing. May God keep you always in His loving embrace.”
Lilacs were her favorite spring flower. We had purple and white lilac bushes at the farm house. By a heavenly miracle, a sprig or two of white lilacs burst into bloom seventy years later my brother reports!
by Mildred M. North
Again the lilac blossoms sway
Above the windowsill,
And every white or purple spray
Exotic perfume spills.
Again the orchard rows are sweet
With drifts of blossom snow,
And every breath of fragrance fleet
Brings thoughts of long ago.
So clear, so precious, memory sees
The old home, Mother dear,
And lilac blooms and apple trees–
The joys of yesteryear.