Better Late Than Never A Tribute To My Mother

 I was born in 1924, the third daughter.  Early memories are spotty, just

glimpses of a moment in time.  It was an era of depression.  We made do,

got by, always had food, but I’m sure it was not what my Mother would

have given us, if she had the luxury of choice.  I do remember, being at her

elbow when she was cooking, sewing, or any of the crafty things she liked

to do.  I admired her work, thought she was the smartest person on earth.

My brother was born in 1932, their long awaited son. Looking back, I

think this pregnancy left her with kidney problems.  There was no money

for doctors and I’m sure she did not get the proper care.  I remember her

backaches, taking medication, days she lay down every chance she got.  She

died at the end of May, 1935.  We were told it was from the boils she was

having.  I was eleven.  At that time, I was still considered a child, too young

for “grown-up talk.”  I can’t remember any admonitions, no advice, nothing.

We spent that summer in Mississippi with an aunt.  When we returned

in the fall, my Father had us settled in a small town where he was managing

a store.  I was beginning to feel resentment, picked on, self-pity, and

everything else in that line.  I didn’t have sense enough to see it as being the

loss of my Mother.  I just shut her out of my mind.  She was gone.  The end.

As I grew into a teenager, I had lots of “near misses”, “close calls”, or

whatever you want to call them.  I always felt I had a guardian angel, and

was grateful.  It was some fifty years later that my angel’s identity was made

known to me.

I hope this will help you read these thoughts and memories with more

understanding.  Thanks for hearing me.