I recently read the poem ‘My Mother’ by Ann Taylor. As I read the lines about the things mother did when she was an infant, I wondered about my own mother. Did she sit and watch my infant head while I slept? I don’t know. Did she have sleepless nights and gaze upon my heavy eye when I was sick and in pain? I don’t know. Did she sing me a lullaby and rock me in her arms when I cried? I don’t know.
I don’t know. I was too little to know. I know a mother would most definitely do all that and a lot more but I would only guess that she did.
What do I know? My mind recalls most of the things she did from my first day at school onward. I know that she really did pay attention to all I had to say, She also told nice stories. I know she taught me to pray. I know she guided me in the ways of the Lord.
I know she cared and I know she still does. Even as a wife and a mother, she calls me to know if I am okay. She wonders if my household had a good night/day and if everything is alright… She wants to know if she can help in one way or the other.
Sometimes I feel horrible and tell myself it should be the reverse but I realise it’s just the mother in her over-shadowing the daughter in me.
My mother.
