My Truly Special Mom
by Betty Ann Fisher
And when she smiled—
‘Twas as if the world was new,
And when she laughed
Our troubles all seemed few.
She cried but seldom
And ah, she hid the tears
Or wiped them quickly
That none would know her fears.
If steep her path,
She wore no outward sorrow
But kept the ache within herself
Not bitter on the morrow.
She’d never stoop to deed unkind
Nor would she hurt another
Nor hold a grudge within her heart
My sweet and gentle Mother.
IN MEMORY OF MOM
by Betty Ann Fisher
A fitting tribute to her memory—a statue struck in bronze? An impressive gravestone in the churchyard? Which of these shall I choose?
I think that I shall always remember her in the first bright flush of dawn, whenever I see a clump of Lilies of the Valley in a quiet glade, when the first Crocus peeks above the ground, in the scent of early Lilacs, when the first Robin makes his appearance, when the earth smells sweet after a summer shower, when the trees swish in a gentle breeze, when I hear a Bob White call.
When the smell of autumn is in the air, when the first frost sets the leaves aflame, when snowflakes fall from Heaven, and when the sunset comes. I’ll remember her when I hear the laughter of children at play or see nuns at prayer. When I hear a lullabye, when a music box tinkles a merry tune. Whenever I smell Violets, I’ll feel that she is near. And when the thaw sets free the mountain brooks and streams, I’ll think of her.
When church bells ring at Easter-tide, when Christmas carols are sung, when I see a cozy kitchen or a warm and glowing hearth, when a kettle sings on a stove, when the crickets chirp and when the stars come out.
Whenever I’m happy I’ll wish that she could share, and when I’m sad I’ll long for the comfort that only she could give. For my triumphs—if only she might prideful be and my faults could help correct. When someone else says, “Mother” I’ll remember mine.