“She was an independent woman of stature and grace. She had beautiful eyes and a lovely face. An audacious strength from deep inside. In her I knew I could always confide.”
—Sharlynn N. Manning
It was Mothers Day 2013. I had taken a red-eye flight on United Airlines from California to New Jersey, not knowing whether mom would be alive when I got there. Even though a sibling believed she was rallying back, I felt a strong silent prompting to be at our mother’s bedside. As it turned out, she passed away in the afternoon in spite of heroic efforts by doctors to keep her alive. My siblings Josie, brothers Michael and Steve at her bedside, taking turns holding her hand as she transitioned to the heavenly realm.
The following poem by Deborah Culver called “Your Mother is Always with You was adapted in our mother’s memory.
She’s the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street.
She’s the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick,
The fragrance of life itself.
She’s the cool hand on your brow when you’re not feeling well.
She’s your breath in the air on a cold winters’ day.
She’s the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep…
Your mother lives inside your laughter.
She’s the place you came from, your first home on earth.
She’s the map you follow with every step you take.
She’s your first love, your first friend, even your first enemy [when you didn’t get your way].
But nothing on Earth can separate you.
Not time.
Nor space.
Not even death.
Happy Mother's Day, Mama!
