Mothers Day

Happy Mother's Day
May 10, 2009

Dosena Marie Halladay

My Mother Kept A Garden

My mother kept a garden,
a garden of the heart,
She planted all the good things,
that gave my life a start.

She turned me to the sunshine
and encouraged me to dream.
Fostering and nurturing,
the seeds of self-esteem.

And when the winds and rain came,
she protected me enough--
But not too much because she knew,
I'd need to stand up strong and tough.

Her constant good example,
always taught me right from wrong.
Markers for my pathway,
that will last a lifetime long.

I am my Mother's garden.
I am her legacy.
And I hope today she feels the love,
reflected back from me.

Author unknown

Mom was born on October 12, 1903. Back then, that was when Columbus Day was celebrated. She passed away on April 6, 1991. She is always in our thoughts, and in our hearts. On special days, like Mother's Day, we wish we could just tell her how much we love her once more.

Grandmas

If I were granted any wish,
I'll tell you what I'd do,...
I'd wish my kids were small again,
for just a month or two.
~~~~
To hear their squeals of laughter,
to watch them while they play.
And when they ask me to join in,
I'd NOT say "Not today."
~~~~
To hug again their chubby frame,
to kiss away their tears,
and cherish childhood innocence's
that's washed away the years.
~~~~
Then when it's story time again,
I'd stay a little longer,
to answer questions, sing the songs,
so memories would be stronger.
~~~~
But time is callous, wishes, myth,
yet God in all his wisdom,
has given me another chance
before I join his kingdom.
~~~~
The face may not be just the same,
the name is changed, 'tis true,
but yet the smile that radiates,
reminds me so of you.
~~~~
God must have known that Grandma
would need a chance or two.
For many little happy things
she hadn't time to do.
~~~~
So God gave love to Grandmas
to equal that before,
that, in effect embraces
those little lives she bore.
(author unknown)

Grandma is blessed with six grandchildren,
thirteen great-grandchildren, and
two great-great-grandchildren.
I wish she could have held them all.

M is for the million things she gave me,

O means only that she's growing old.

T is for the tears she shed to save me,

H is for her heart of purest gold;

E is for her eyes, with love-light shining,

R means right, and right she'll always be.

Put them all together, they spell

-MOTHER-

A word that means the world to me

--Howard Johnson (c. 1915)

Happy Mother's Day Mom

Family Reunion
August 6, 1989

This is for Mothers

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here."
Who walk around the house all night with their babies when they keep crying and won't stop.
This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who don't.
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.
This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at football or soccer games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see me?" they could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.
This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet like a tired 2-year old who wants ice cream before dinner.
This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.
For all the mothers who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then read it again, "Just one more time."
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.
This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice call "Mom?" in a crowd, even thought they know their own offspring are at home.
This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just fine once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.
For all the mothers who bite their lips sometimes until they bleed, when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.
What makes a good Mothers anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?
Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?
The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?
The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?
For all the mothers of the victims of all these school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting. For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.
This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's graves.
This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation.
And mature mothers learning to let go.
For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
Single mothers and married mothers.
Mothers with money, mothers without.
This is for you all.

Counter