My mother is old. I just came from visiting her and I realize that she is now reaching the point where she sometimes needs us to to help. I took her arm and helped her across the street when my sister and i took her to see a play Clybourne Park. She had paid for the tickets, thanks to a lifetime of work and secure pension plans. She is a proud, self-reliant woman who makes me proud to be her son. Last year, she rolled the insulation in her attic. She was only 88, but now she is old.
It was my deepest wish to live to make her proud of me and I have succeeded. With a measure of sweat, determination and a refusal to accept defeat, I am who I am. What kind of woman is my mother? One who is the family matriarch. With common sense and good choices, she is now the oldest person in our family. And shows no real sign of slowing down. Except when it comes time to cross the street. That’s when you can tell.
She has survived surgery to remove cataracts which turned her brown eyes blue for a while. She raised us to love warm, comfy homes. And she raised us to work at least as hard as she did. I don’t complain about needing a second job, because that’s what Mom did.
My mother stuck a diabetic pin in my finger last week just before breakfast. It was totally unexpected. I told her that the VA had said I was pre-diabetic. That was all it took, as her years of nursing and losing relatives to this deadly killer of African-Americans went into action. She told me” you’re still still my little boy.” Well, I may be a senior citizen according to Milwaukee County, but as long as I live, I’m still that child she gave birth to.
- Not “Just” a Mom (catholicmom.com)
- A Mother’s Heart (bvm4us.wordpress.com)
- Mothers (thepumpingmama.wordpress.com)
- What I miss about my mother (marvarichey.wordpress.com)