For my Mum...

Ten years ago today (4th), my dear Mum went to be with her Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ – to her Heavenly reward and mansion that He’d prepared for her; to see her beloved husband, my Dad, who’d gone on before her. And to her ultimate healing – to be literally Home Free – free of cancer, free of pain, free of heartache, free of all the troubles of this world. Mum, there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think of you, talk to you, and miss you… I am so blessed to be your daughter and to have the heritage you gave me. I love you and can’t wait to see you again…we’ll have SO much to talk about!! I wrote this for you some time ago…

A Mother’s Love

“I love you”, she would say; and I would nod and smile,
Returning the familiar words – “I love you, too"- and I thought I did.
I thought I knew all about her love.

And when she would reminisce about my childhood days
I would grow impatient and restless – feeling, perhaps,
That her love for me then was stronger than it was today.

After all, back then I was hers – moldable, predictable, obedient.
A good little girl - her “peacemaker” between two boisterous lads.
“We had so much fun”, she would say, and I felt guilty
For the stolen moments I was giving her now.

“You were such a good little girl”, and I was reminded
Of the following years -
When I’d caused her so much pain.

“Let go of me”, I had inwardly screamed, “I’m not yours anymore.
I need to make my own mark, find my own way,
Work through my own life, find my own God”.

I’d said her prayers and read her Bible, now I needed to see
If her God would be mine.

When cross words were spoken I saw the pain – etched in her eyes.
I thought I knew how she felt, but I had no idea.
She needed to get a life, leave the little girl behind,
I was moving on, why wasn’t she?

I thought I knew my Mother - I thought I knew her love.
But I didn’t.

Not until the day I first held my own babies,
Not until then, did I begin to understand.

Not until I’d walked the midnight floors,
Not until I’d kissed the chubby wounds,
Not until I’d curled the first fair lock,
Not until I’d wept at their tears,
Not until I’d seen their first steps,
Not until I’d danced my first “ring-around-a-rosie”,
Not until I’d heard my first, “I wuv you, Mummy”,
Not until I’d knelt by their beds and heard their childish prayers,
Not until I’d wrestled with Satan for their souls,
Did I begin to understand my Mother’s love.

And now the cycle continues in my three girls –
Precious treasures, gifts from God.
They struggle to be free, and in their eyes
I see my words to my Mother - thirty years ago.

It startles me - to see the same look
And to remember those feelings so vividly.
They think I don't see, I don't understand
But they are so wrong.

And now I realize that, maybe too late,
I know the depth of my Mother's love for me.