When my mother told me…

When my mother told me that clothes made the woman, she was wearing a ragged housecoat with a pack of Pall Malls in the pocket and a rip on the sleeve. Her knees were red from scrubbing our old linoleum floor with a mixture of lye and laundry soap

 When my mother told me to cram all the book learning in my head that I could, she was standing over an ironing board pressing my daddy’s work shirts with one eye on her soap opera – The Guiding Light – and the other on my baby brother who was running around the kitchen with a wet diaper hanging from his backside.

When my mother told me that I could be whatever I wanted to be she was scrubbing our clothes on an old laundry board. The water was cold and her knuckles were red.

When my mother told me that she wrote me every day in her mind and I was the only one of her kids she never worried about, it had been five years since I had seen her face. Two months later she would die before my mother could ever tell me anything again

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2 Comments

Filed under Breadcrumbs

2 responses to “When my mother told me…

  1. Your mother loved you and wanted the best for you always. She still does. Nothing as puny as death could stop a mother’s love for her child.

  2. Patricia Compton Mishler

    Our parents still find ways to communicate. They speak to us in ways we sometimes don’t hear, but feel. In the still of the morning, in the dusk of the night that bird that hovers close, that butterfly that swoops by, the wind that swishes across our cheek (their silent touch). Although there are no ‘words’ spoken, the conversation continues. We just have to be quiet and listen as they continue to let their spirits connect. Be still, look, listen. Be open and you will know she is right there with you – always

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