My Mother's Voice

My mother left for her home in Clarkston today. She was here to celebrate Mother's Day with us. Although it's only a two hour drive from my house to hers, I always hate saying goodbye. I like it best when the people I love are close at hand. Once in 1958 when I was eight, my mother flew from Los Angeles to Omaha at a time when many folks were still travelling via the railroad - something I was familiar and comfortable with. When my dad, little brother and I walked her to the gate to say good bye, I became a watershed of tears begging her not to go ... I had looked at the airplane sitting on the run way and was plagued with an unrealistic fear I would never see my mom again. Like a new puppy I experienced separation anxiety - the main difference I didn't shred the draperies or chew the furniture.

From the time I was very small - still a toddler, a favorite rememberance is my mother reading poetry to me. Then as now I find the sound of her voice to be calm and loving, filling me with a confident assurance that " all is well". Mom would read her favorite poets over and over and they became my favorites, too. I think of " The Duel" by Eugene Field, " The Barefoot Boy" by John Greenleaf Whittier and Sam Walter Foss's "The House By the Side of the Road" :

"Let me live in my house by the side of the road-
It's here the race of men go by.
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are stong,
Wise, foolish - so am I;
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man"

I recognize this is my mother's creed - understanding we are all good and bad, weak and strong, wise and foolish. She has chosen not to be cynical or sit in the scorner's seat, but to be loving, joyful and kind. My mother's voice - not just the sound, but in the way she lives her life.