For MY Mom, and For All of Your Mom's Who No Longer Walk This Earth

[Scotticher]

Mother's Day is here, and I miss my mom. Well, I miss her all the time, but sometimes certain things make me miss her DESPERATELY, and Mother's Day is one of them. A few nights ago, Delilah played a song on the radio for a man who lost HIS mom, and it really got to me.

So this is a Mother's Day card for my beloved mother, and for any of you who have had to go on after losing your mom, at least in physical presence. May God Bless and Keep You, and may this song remind you that your mom is not really gone as long as she is alive in your heart and mind.

I love you, mommy! Thank you for being a marvelous and loving mother, for teaching me the things I needed to know and for making sure that even after you were gone you would still be fresh in my mind when I need you. For loving me so much that you would NEVER be gone from my heart. If I had a chance to start from the very beginning and God let me choose my parents, I would have chosen the ones He gave me.

For Our Beloved Moms on Mother's Day

_{Oh, and for those of you who notice these things, I POSTED A VIABLE LINK! WOO HOO! Maybe it is a Mother's Day present for mom....her daughter finally posted a VIABLE LINK!}

[Flamsterette_X]

Hey, congratulations on the viable link, [b]Cheri[b]! I, too, have learned the art of posting viable links recently. Isn't that great?

[evilbeth]

{{{Cheri}}}

Your mom did a wonderful job being a mom. She ended up with one pretty terrific kid.

[purrplebear]

::reads the link, thinks about my mom and all those who are missing their mom right now::

Thanks, hon. Your mom is sitting up there beaming at you, I'm sure. It's an honor to be your friend.

{{{{{{Cheri}}}}}}


::chokes up, tries not to cry, slowly slips out::

[Scotticher]

Yes, Flam.....we have learned how to post a viable link.

Now about that bolding thing....

evilbeth, darling girl.....thank you so much, I am not really all that special, but I am so honored that you feel that way. Thank you so much! Thursday kisses and MUCH LOVE to my darling Emma Kate. And ::huggles:: to you and Stephen! (And love, too, of course.)

Thanks, purr darling....I hope our respective moms are rejoicing over our friendship as much as *I* am! It is indeed an honor to be YOUR friend, as well.

[Flamsterette_X]

Cheri, I'm usually good at bolding! I don't know how that snuck in there.. oh well. I'm sure your mom is looking down on you from heaven, proud that she did such a wonderful job raising you to be the person you are today. (I can say that even though I don't know you, right? I hope so! )

[Scotticher]

CERTAINLY, sweetie, and I am just thinking (NOT fondly) of all the coding mistakes I have made over the past couple of years. I am really quite lame in so many ways. And thank you so much for your kind words.

Oh, and BTW...you are about to get to know me a whole lot better, since we are about to have a DopeFest in Vancouver in July, if everything works out the way I think it is going to. Did you know that I live in Bellingham? I look forward to meeting you.

Take care!

[Lord Jim]

Cheri, I'm know your mom is very proud of the person you've become. How could she not be? I'm sure she lives on thru you.

Much love,
Jim

And way to go on the link thing, I knew you could do it.

[Moxmaiden]

This is a wonderful idea Cheri! I would like permission to resurrect the idea around Father's Day.

My mother and I don't always see eye to eye, but I love her just the same. And lucky for me (since I was in the middle), my sister and my mom finally are speaking to one another again, and just in time for Mother's Day.

Anyway, back to you - I am sure your mom would be proud of you and I haven't really gotten to know you very well yet. But I feel confidant in saying that from reading your posts on the board and meeting you at the Birthday Party for you and Grace here. Any parent would be proud to have a daughter like you.

[beerchick]

Dammit you made me cry. I lost my mom about 6 years ago and I still miss her alot. Just recently March 10 th I lost my mother-in-law. She was a really great lady. I think she loved me as much as her son.
For all those people who have lost their moms:

MOM:YA DONE REAL GOOD AND WE ALL MISS YOU EVERY DAY.

[jlzania]

Thanks so much for starting this thread-I'm 47 and I still really miss my mommy. *sniff*

[a35362]

I hate Mother's Day.

For weeks now I've been seeing these banner ads that say SPOIL MOM and store window posters that say "Show Mom She's the BEST" and so on. I would LOVE to spoil Mom, to hug her one more time and tell her that even after 20 years, she's still with me every day, if only because I see her when I look in the mirror. I would love to smell that Mom-smell of her skin and her hair. I would love to have a grown-up conversation with her. I want to ask her stuff. I would love to tell her that I love her so much and I miss her so much, but I'm never going to see her again.

I'm crying now.

[wring]

ya know, coding correctly may make your post look swell, but if the content stinks, who cares?

Thanks Cheri once again tough time of the year.

I'll always remember my favorite mother's day Card I gave her. on the front it said "Who taught me to wear my galoshes when it's raining?" "who taught me never to say bad words" "who taught me to always carry a clean handerchief" Inside was a character standing bootless in puddles while they wiped their nose on their sleve and said "Nobody, but you sure as H*** tried hard".

Here's to you, mom.

[jools]

I can barely see, trying hard not to cry being at work still .... I lost my mom 6 months ago and i must admit things like her bday and now mother's day are really hard

Thanks Scotticher for the link (and congrats on being able to do link it correctly)

[Ice Wolf]

Trust you to start up such a wonderful thread for Mother's Day and mothers everywhere, Scotticher. You are, and always shall remain, a wonderful person.

It'll be 5 years come September since I was last able to talk to Mum. Stars above, it still hurts, though the pain is slowly giving way to happier memories. But the last thing Mum wanted to see happen was that I write a book on the history of where I live. Right now, that's close to coming to be, plus I publish a historical journal, set up websites on the stuff, am about to give a talk on local history at the library, and I push-started a historical society. Around here, they call me a "community historian".

And Mum isn't here to see it. Damn, damn, damn.

Thanks for the link, treasured lady -- such gorgeous words.

[Scotticher]

Well, the last thing I wanted to do here was to make people cry. Although, sometimes crying is a GOOD thing, so maybe this is better.

As I said, this is just sort of a Mother's Day card for our moms who are no longer here on earth so we can spoil them. And now that I think about it, it is maybe a gentle nudge to those of you who still HAVE your moms here....hold them close, tell them you love them, spoil them rotten, allow the differences and celebrate what is important. They won't be here forever.

Thank you, Lord Jim and Moxmaiden.... I think she would have found a way to be proud of me no matter HOW I turned out, she was just that kind of person. But I do think that she felt that I got all the important stuff. If she lives on in me, I am much better than I think I am.

And of course you have my permission, Melissa darling! I hope you are appropriately treasured on Mothers Day, because I think you are the kind of mother MY mother would have been proud of. And I am proud of you, too. Congratulations on your mom and sister mending fences...what a wonderful gift for your mom this year!

a35362 honey.....one day, only weeks after my mom passed, when I was still DEEP in grief...I was having a difficult day, and this woman walked past me at my office and....all of a sudden I felt such...PEACE. I couldn't figure it out for a minute, until she came past me again and I realized she was wearing "White Shoulders" perfume. My mom always wore "White Shoulders" when I was a child. Just the smell took me back to my childhood...back to the time when I could climb up onto my mom's lap and no matter what was wrong in my world was okay because my mom was there. I understand.

Oh, and I think she knows. I truly believe that. Just because she isn't across the table from you doesn't mean you can't talk to her, tell her all the things you need to tell her. She may not be here to answer....but I believe she will hear you. Love doesn't die.

My darling wring. I LOVED what you shared about the card! One time I gave my mom a birthday card ...it had a cute little purple monster on the front, said Happy Birthday. Inside it said..."From your little monster, with love." She loved it, showed it to everyone who came anywhere near her for weeks. She carried that card to church in her BIBLE, for heaven's sake! And pulled it out and showed everyone who said hello to her. Okay, now *I* am crying too.

I am so SO sorry, jools. This is so difficult, such a very hard year for you. Please email me if you want to talk. I see your email is listed, so I am going to email you with my address. I care, and I want to help if I can.

Ice Wolf...I hardly know what to say to you, honey. You are such a wonderfully loving and giving person, and have always been so very kind to me. I know one thing for sure, your mom IS proud of you. And she DOES know that you are fulfilling her wish and dream for you. As the song says, our moms are just a breathe away from us....they will always live on in our hearts because...because they didn't move INTO our hearts after they died, they established themselves there so many years ago. And they will never leave.

Just one more thing here. I appreciate and take into my heart with gratefulness all the very generous and kind and loving things you all have said to me, here and elsewhere. But my mom would have been the very first to say to me...."Cheri, all these people have been so very KIND about you....but you and I both know you are not even anywhere NEAR where you should be. How can you become a better person? Figure it out and work on it, honey."

_{Of course, if any of you had ever criticized me to her, she would have verbally ripped your guts out. She was THAT kind of person, too. Again, this is the fabric of love. Loving someone and wanting them to be the very BEST person they can be, and finding a way to encourage them to BE the best person they can be.}

[LurkMeister]

I knew I shouldn't have opened this sniff . One of the reasons I'm glad I changed my work schedule to 4/40 is that I wasn't at work today. My work unit has a Mother's Day lunch the Friday before Mother's Day; unfortunately they have it in a cleared area near my cubicle so it's hard for me to ignore it.
My Mom died sixteen years ago after a series of heart attacks; typically, she had not mentioned to any of us that she had been having heart problems. She spent her last two weeks in a coma. I had visited her a few days earlier and spent an hour sitting by her bed telling her how things had been going for Mrs. L & I; the last thing I said to her was "You stay out of trouble now" (family joke).
The worst thing about losing her was how it affected my wife. Her mother had died when she was a child, and her and Mom had grown very close. (When we announced our engagement to the family Mom had practically knocked me over to hug her and welcome her to the family, leaving me standing there saying, "Uh, Mom, remember me? Firstborn?")
Even after all this time, something will remind me of her - hearing a joke that I first heard from her, buying marigolds to plant in front of the house - and I think I lucky I was to have had her. And I try not to think about how mad I was that she had to go so soon.

Hi, Mom.

[Stinkum]

Thanks for the great link. I'm getting weepy. I lost my Mom in 96. She had a lot of health problems most of her life, but she died from staph aureus sepsis at age 57. A great lady who never let her handicaps get her down -- they slowed her down a little, but she would just keep going. She put up with a lot of nonsense from me in my youth and never lost her cool.
I have dreams about her where she's still alive -- they are very vivid dreams. I wake up partly still in the dream and expect the phone to ring and hear her voice saying, "What's up kid? I was just thinking about you."

[Scotticher]

beerchick What an awesome tribute to the person you are...I know you must have been a wonderful daughter if your mom-in-law loved you so much. Let's face it, it isn't all that often that a woman truly loves the woman her son chooses. Your mom must be very proud of the daughter she raised.

And I feel your pain, honey...mourning your mother, and now the mom you grew to love. I hope you have a wonderful husband, who can hold you and understand. It isn't easy to love.....it is so much harder to lose.

jlzania, I am so sorry. I wish so much that I could help you in your grief. I know I can't, all I can do is to tell you that I miss my mommy too. Just like you miss your mom. It is just so ..see, I can't even formulate words here. You have my prayers and best positive thoughts. You ever want to talk about it, or about anything, please email me. I understand. I care.

[Spooky]

It's so touching to read all of these messages. <sniff>


This is for the mother-in-law I never knew. She died just six months before I met the man I would later marry.

Thanks, Anna, for raising such a wonderful son. Thanks for giving him to me.

Love,
Christine

[jlzania]

ahhhScotticher thank you. My mother died over 10 years ago but holidays in general and mother's day in particular resonate with her absence. I am always amused by the popular pyscho babble about "closure". When some one you love dies you never stop missing them. The wound scabs over and you move on but the hurt is always there.

[CanadianSue]

I believe my mom watches down on me everday. Some days she cheers me on, some days she tells me to get my shit together and no doubt, some days she laughs like hell at some of my antics. I know she is there, but most days that doesn't make the loss of her any better.

Tomorrow, I'll celebrate Mother's Day with my son and enjoy every minute of it, but deep in my heart, just as will be on Father's Day next month, will be the painful throb of the pain that never goes away.

Happy Mother's Day Mom! I have no doubt that you are organizing all the other moms up there to have a grandiose party tomorrow! Let Scotti's mom know that she raised one hell of a daughter!

[lolagranola]

My mom died when I was little. Her funeral was on my 6th birthday. I wish that I really remembered her. I cuddle up with my own kids, and think about how terrifying it must have been for her, to realize that she might not live to see us grow up. I think about how I must have cuddled up with her. How much she must have loved me and my siblings.

I miss having a mom. I wish that she'd been there to talk with when I was pregnant, and having my own kids. I wish I could have called her for advice when my own kids got sick or hurt. Somedays, when life gets too hectic, I just yearn for a mommy of my own to comfort me.

I remember being jealous when we'd make things for Mother's Day in school. All the other kids had mommies to make stuff for.

When we buried my dad, I started crying not for my dad, strangely enough, but for my mom, who he was being buried next to. My dad got a full life. He lived to see me get married and start my own family. He held his grandchildren. My mom? She didn't even get to see my 6th birthday.

Sometimes I think about that when I'm planning my kids birthday parties. How horrible it would be to die before it happened. To buy presents for a party I won't be there for. I know how little I remember my mother, and I worry that if I died now, my little girls wouldn't remember me either.

[Scarlett67]

Others have mentioned in-laws here, so may I talk about mine?

I never knew Mr. S's mom -- she died 5 years before we met, at age 69. She had a really hard life -- raised 7 kids in poverty, cranky alcoholic husband, didn't drive, so she was trapped in a lot of ways. We often talk about how nice it would be if she were still alive -- we could treat her to all the activities that we enjoy and that Mr. S knows she would too: going to concerts, eating out, and just plain spoiling her to try to compensate for all her hard years. (Mr. S couldn't afford to when he was single, and she died shortly after he got out of school.) And I would have loved to enact a tradition I read about once: Send your mother-in-law flowers on your spouse's birthday. In my case, she raised up at least one fine boyo to be my darling hubby, and I wish I could thank her for that. I often do, in my mind. Thank you, Lelah, for the hubby I never thought I'd find.

I took roses to my own mother today and knocked her off her feet. (Dad, give her flowers? HAH!) Pink ones -- they were her own mother's favorite.

When some one you love dies you never stop missing them. The wound scabs over and you move on but the hurt is always there.

How true. I had a "pseudo-grandma" who used to always tell us about how her mother died when Grandma was 17. She said she still missed her every day, and included her in her daily prayers. Grandma died at age 88 still missing her mother.

[kellibelli]

Its almost over. The horrible banner ads and the billboards and commercials on tv and radio will be gone soon.

Just one more day.

[Jervoise]

Well it's Mother's Day in Australia.

I knew I shouldn't have opened this thread, but knew at the same time that I would. Now I've gone and upset myself, when I was fine before. Crap.

My mum died 5 years ago, a month before my 17th birthday. She died while I was out of state, on a holiday with my friends. The last time I saw her was at the train station, in a wheel chair. The cancer, you see, had spread into, I dunno... her spine, I think. So she couldn't walk and was in a lot of pain, but she was still alive as ever.

Funny - I still don't know precisely how she died. Cancer, obviously, but I don't know cancer "of what"? I saw her death certificate after the funeral, but I was too young and too numb to know what it said. I'd like to find out someday, for myself.

I never thought she would die.

Even today, I don't know WHY I didn't see it coming. It was obvious. She'd had various cancers for six years. Breast cancer when I was 10. More breast cancer when I was 11. Lumps in her back when I was in high school. Chemotherapy. Radiotherapy. She was in a fucking WHEELCHAIR when I left on the train.

But still, I didn't know she was dying. It just didn't occur to me.

It's my biggest regret. Flitting off on a fabulous summer holiday while mum was dying. It was fucking obvious she was dying. (But I just didn't KNOW.) My brother and my father were with her when she died in pain. But me, in blissful ignorance, I was living it up in another time zone.

I was in South Australia, actually. When they told me, I was around 8pm. I ran off into the trees and they let me go. I remember the night sky. We were in the country and there was no moon so the stars when unbearably bright. I wasn't wearing any shoes and as I there stood crying my arse off, a small army of bush ants attacked my feet.

[käse]

It's Mother's Day here.

No more Mom. For a very long time. [ no more Dad too, for that matter]

Thanks for this post Scotticher

Cheers Mom. I hope you are, where you wanted to be.

[GKW]

Your post reminded me of a PBS program a couple of years ago about the 1918 flu epidemic. They were interviewing people who had lived through that time. One man was about 6 years old when the epidemic started. He talked about losing his mother, how the worst that could happen had happened. He described how his mother was marvelous and that when she died the shine went out of everything. Eighty-some years old and he starts to cry for his mother who died so many years ago. I thought, my god I know just how you feel. My mom died over 7 years ago and the magic in life went with her. I've been pretending ever since.

[Scotticher]

I'm so sorry, LurkMeister. It is so good that you can remember the time you had with your mom instead of focusing on the fact that she died too soon. It is very hard to do that. And it is so wonderful that your wife had such a good relationship with your mom after losing her own mom so young.

Stinkum, I do the same kind of thing. I'm not nuts, and I KNOW my mom is gone. With my mind. I am not so sure that my heart ever got totally convinced she isn't coming back, though. Sometimes the phone rings at work and my office assistant will say "Your mom's on the phone..." and I will automatically reach for my phone....forgetting that it isn't possible for her to have been talking to me.

Spooky, I am sure that somewhere your mom-in-law is smiling down on you and feeling that you just paid her the best compliment she could have ever wanted.

My darling CanadianSue......You are one of the best mom's I know, and I am certain your mom is smiling down on you....today and EVERY day. I hope you have a wonderful Mother's Day with your precious boy...your strength and loving courage are a legacy your mom can be very proud of. And I am sure she is. Thanks for the kind words, too!

lolagranola, your post breaks my heart and makes me ashamed of myself for sometimes feeling like I got cheated. I had my mom long into my adulthood....it was hard enough to deal with losing her then...I can't imagine how much worse it would have been if I had lost her so young. You have my sincere sympathy, and I am so very glad that you have little ones of your own to cuddle.

Scarlett67 What a wonderful idea, to send your mother-in-law flowers on your husband's birthday! It is such a shame that you never got to do that for your MIL, but I am sure she is happy that she raised such a wonderful man to be your husband. And that he was lucky enough to find you, too. And....your mom must be very proud of the daughter SHE raised, too. Yay for you for sending her roses!

Narrad I have thought about this a lot, because I knew my mom was terminal for six weeks before she died. I THOUGHT I had "worked" through a great deal of "stuff"....I thought I had pretty much prepared myself for her leaving me. I was wrong. I don't really think we ever TRULY believe our parents are going to die and leave us. Even when we "know" they are going to go, some place deep inside of us is still convinced that they would NEVER leave us, and that someway, somehow, they will find a way to STAY. Because they love us...they are our PARENTS, and they have always been there for us, and they always WILL be.

And I was an adult when I had to deal with this. Please don't be so hard on yourself....you were still essentially a child, and I think it is completely understandable that you didn't REALLY think she was going to die. I am willing to bet that she understood that too, and she most likely wanted you to have your holiday. If she knew she didn't have much time left then she also knew you would be going through an extremely difficult and painful thing in just a short time.....she probably wanted you to have the opportunity to BE a child for at least a little while longer. (((( Narrad)))))

käse I am so sorry for your loss, for the loss of both of your parents. I, too, hope and pray that they are where they wanted to be.

GKW You have my sincere sympathy. I hope that with time you will be able to find the magic again. I know how hard it is...I wish I could say something to help. I know I can't, and I know that there is a part of me also that I may never find again. But I will keep trying, and I hope you will too.

[Scarlett67]

Originally posted by Scotticher
Your mom must be very proud of the daughter SHE raised, too. Yay for you for sending her roses!

Actually I delivered them in person (we were riding to a bridal shower together that day). Her jaw dropped as I set them on the table and began to remove the wrappings. Then she said, "Shame on you, Scarlett!" and gave me a hug.

This winter my mom e-mailed us (she and my dad were traveling) that she had a funny mole "that looked like some pictures she'd seen) and was going to see a doctor. (It turned out to be a wart or something.) But my first thought was "Gee, I sure don't want my mom to die before my dad does -- she deserves a few years of peace." Mr. S's mom died first, so instead of spoiling her without his dad around, they had to deal with his dad for five more years, and he got even more unpleasant after becoming a widower.

But we like to think that Lelah is up there petting our dear departed pets, whom we know she would have loved, and -- who knows? -- perhaps accompanying us unannounced to those activities we would have liked to share with her.

[Sunspace]

**SOB** I MISS MY MOM!!! And {{{HUGS}}} to all...

I'd seen this thread title and had been kind of avoiding it...

Today after my workout and a pleasant time shopping in Bloor West Village in spite of the cold bleak weather, I was on my way home, and I came up out of the subway and followed the other people to the bus. Suddenly something snapped into focus, and I saw the people ahead of me as people, rather than as anonymous obstacles in the crush. My attention focused on the back of a silver-haired woman ahead of me, and I thought, that woman may well be a mother. Then I realised I had a lump in my stomach, and I realised how much I still miss my mom.

So I've got some things to say...

Dear Mom,

You were amazing. You brought sunshine and music and art into our house. You could and did sing professionally alongside your sisters. You could paint and sew and draw. And, belying all the stereotypes about British food being boiled into submission, you were, like your mother, a superb cook.

Do you know how wonderful it is for a five-year-old to wake up and hear his mother singing in the kitchen and know that she is happy and therefore all is right with the world? That's one of my earliest memories.

You were born on the Prairies, a child of the Great Depression, the dry, dusty, starvation times. With your family, you came to Ontario at age 14, and during the war you grew up along the shores of Lake Ontario, before graduation from high school in Peterborough. Alongside your two sisters, you went to work in the booming postwar economy. In one of your jobs, you worked with the first computer in Peterborough--only you didn't call it that. You called it 'the Marchant machine'.

You met a man, Ted, who brought you joy, made you laugh... and in 1953 you married. Amidst many struggles, you formed a household. Children followed: two girls, then later a boy. These were not easy times: at one point your husband had to sell his cherished golf clubs to pay the mortgage. But together you maintained a happy household for three growing children. You formed lasting friendships with the neighbours, and we children ran from house to house, playing. Then Ted was transferred to Whitby. We all picked up and followed, moving into a wonderful old house in that town.

During the 1970s, you were active in politics, and you helped out on the NDP campaigns in the seventies. You became friends with Ed Broadbent, who was the candidate for our riding, and one summer the family visited Ottawa and had dinner at his place. I still remember that visit, and walking around Ottawa looking at the sights.

You and Ted were growing further and further apart. The girls were off to university, and starting their own lives, and your son was in his early teens. You decided you could handle it, so in 1978 you parted ways with Ted.

After the divorce, you put a roof over my head and food on the table, and helped me get through high school and on to university. You got a job working for a foundation that designed and built cooperative housing. In 1978 we moved into one of 'your' developments. This was where you lived for the rest of your life.

In the eighties you got that job as a caseworker at the Ministry, and every week you went to interview clients to see what kinds of benefits they qualified for. Such was your humanity at this difficult and sometimes dangerous task, that your clients wanted you back time and time again. Your job and your volunteer activities took you to a wide variety of places, and you learned grace and diplomacy. You could, and did, talk to anyone: celebrity newscasters, factory workers, politicians, mental patients... and they all talked to you. Everyone missed you when you retired.

You also remarried, to a strong, intelligent, and cosmopolitan Englishman, Arthur, who suited you to a T. Your interests matched, and you traveled, going down to New Orleans for the jazz, and over to Europe to see the ancestral homeland. Our families began to merge, and Arthur's twin sons became as brothers. And you were a beating heart for the whole group.

Then came the nineties, and a string of tragedies. You lost your daughter to cancer, and your sister to emphysema. But together with Arthur, you survived, perservered, and offered support to those in need.

But then came the nagging cough that wouldn't go away. Your voice was affected. Of all the things, it had to be your voice. The diagnosis came down: amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a wasting neurological disease that would slowly rob you of the power of movement. There is no cure.

As the months went by, you became weaker and weaker, and gradually you lost your power to do things. And Arthur took up the load. He took care of you, doing all things necessary for you. You had your last driving holiday with Arthur and his sister. Arthur bundled you in and out of the car, and cared for and fed you, and handled all the driving... twelve thousand kilometres in his big black Roadmaster. You got your long-time wish to see the city of San Francisco.

I remember the second-last time I saw you alive. I came out from Toronto on the train one Saturday, to visit you in the Whitby hospital. I walked to the hospital, and went up to your room. We hugged, then I helped you into a wheelchair and wheeled you down to the patio. We talked... well, I talked, since you could barely make noises by this time. You listened and nodded and made small noises of agreement.

After a time, I wheeled you back upstairs. We encountered the nurse just outside the room. She smiled and asked, "Is this your son?" You nodded yes. She asked, "Is he the light of your life?" You nodded yes and laid your head on my arm. I felt like my heart would burst.

We returned to your room, where Arthur had just arrived. We said hi and he helped you back into bed. Soon after I walked back to the train station and headed back to Toronto.

Then, one Labour Day, you passed away. You simply ceased breathing in your sleep, as the doctors had foretold.

Mom, this is the eulogy I wasn't able to give at your funeral. You brought to those around you hope and caring, wherever you went. And you gave us examples to live up to.

Words don't exist for the kind of thanks I want to give.

I spent much of the early evening calling people I know who are mothers, thanking them, and wishing them a happy Mother's Day.

[Scotticher]

That was VERY beautiful, Sunspace. Your mom sounds like a wonderful person, and you were both very blest to have each other. Clearly, she loved you very much.

After a time, I wheeled you back upstairs. We encountered the nurse just outside the room. She smiled and asked, "Is this your son?" You nodded yes. She asked, "Is he the light of your life?" You nodded yes and laid your head on my arm. I felt like my heart would burst.

This made me cry, and is the most eloquent expression of love! What a beautiful and precious gift she gave you....

[Sunspace]

Scotticher said:
This made me cry, and is the most eloquent expression of love! What a beautiful and precious gift she gave you....

Thank you, Scotticher... **HONK** (blows nose) I was crying into my keyboard as I wrote it. I'll spend the rest of my life living up to her gift, and I don't mind a bit. ::weepy ::

[CanadianSue]

Sunspace, what an incredible tribute. I think your mom is looking down on you, very proudly.

[Sunspace]

Thank you, CanadianSue.