I started writing a poem to my mom this morning, but it was crap. So I decided to write a few of stories instead…
My earliest memory of my mother happens to be my earliest memory period. I was three years old and the Barnes family was living in West Palm Beach, Florida. We lived in a neighborhood and had a pool out back. On this day my parents were throwing a party. There were various mothers running about patting me on the head and putting their children in bathing suits so they could swim. My older sister, Talia, got into hers and was splashing about in the water. It was so inviting. I really wanted to be in there too.
I went up to my mom and asked her if I could go swimming. Of course, she knew that meant helping me out of my clothes and into my swimsuit. She, being the loving mother that she is, got up from her lawn chair and began stripping me of my clothing. She continued to do so until there was nothing left. Then she picked me up and placed me on the top step of the pool. And there I stood, naked on the first step, hiding behind the pole as best I could.
* * *
I didn’t realize my mom raised five children until I was nine years old. We were at Wal-Mart, a nine year-old’s heaven. And a four year-old’s, and a five year-old’s, and a seven year-old’s, and an eleven year-old’s. The five of us scattered ourselves about this paradise, pressing all sorts of buttons and eating every sample any of the sample ladies would give us. We all returned to our mom at the same time, each of us having something to say.
“Can I get some legos?” I asked.
“Mommy, can I have this pink shirt?” Estie asked.
“Mom, can we get some macaroni and cheese?” Talia asked
“Mommy, my finger’s stuck in my hair again,” Emily said.
“Mommy, can we go this way?” Leah asked, pointing her finger.
We all looked at her, not hearing the others’ simultaneous plea. We waited for her reply. She looked at all of us, mouth open and wide eyed. Then she burst into laughter.
I think you have to be a mother to fully appreciate this.
* * *
One summer my family lived in Matamoros, Mexico as AIM got the Gateway up and running. I remember one day in particular. I walked with my mom thru the market. My mother went about buying fresh vegetables, I held her hand and walked beside her. I must have been about five or six years old.
When my mom was satisfied with the food she’d purchased we started back home. We walked past vendors with wonderful goodies; we walked past fruit stands, we walked past souvenir stands. A lady sitting against a wall next to the fruit stand caught my mom’s eye. Her son sat close by, his legs maimed. My mom stopped and looked for a moment. My eyes followed hers.
“What happened to his legs, Mommy?” I asked.
“She can’t buy any food,” she said. “His mommy doesn’t have a job and he probably has no daddy. Many of the mommies like this break their…” she struggled with her words “…they break their child’s legs,” she said. I looked up at my mom, tears rolling down her cheek. “She loves him,” she said, “she just doesn’t know what else to do.”
My mom has a true mother’s heart. She gives and gives and gives. She absolutely loved raising her children. She regularly spends herself cooking wonderful meals. She plans events, consistently thinks of others above herself, seeks the Lord with all her heart, and supports a very busy husband all the while. I love you dearly, Mom and I miss you very much. See you in about a week!
