This is the 2nd story in the series.
If you missed yesterday’s post, please take a look back at yesterday’s thank you in The Shoes.
Writing is a gift that is treasured by many…Profound tales are written by people, just like you and I. Most tend to believe they are normal, but I disagree. Everyone has a different story to tell. Our stories and histories make us unique, like snowflakes falling silently to the ground, their tale rarely heard. Each crystal in a snowflake holds an experience that sets us apart from what normal is perceived to be.
Today’s post is dedicated to a woman who I believe was graciously unique. A rare snowflake who liked to speak of other’s accolades, rather than shine the spotlight on herself. She was a woman who built a legacy from her determination and endured hardships that my spoiled brain will never comprehend. Her strong will and talents showcased her diversity for adapting to life. She possessed a fire that I still remain jealous of and a wisdom that came from a depth that knew no end. This woman was my father’s mother….. my Memaw.
A co-worker shared A Journey of a Mother with me on the afternoon that Memaw passed away. I remember sitting in my office, tears streaming endlessly and my heart hurting as I connected to each syllable….each letter…..each verse. I recited this at her funeral to showcase her strength and knowledge that life deserves to be lived, even though it may not always be easy.
I would like to share this story with you, in hopes that it may connect with another and live on.
A Journey of a Mother
by Jacque Powers
The young mother set her foot on the path of life.
“Is this the long way?” she asked.
And the guide said: “Yes, and the way is hard. And you will be old before you reach the end of it.. But the end will be better than the beginning.” But the young mother was happy, and she would not believe that anything could be better than these years.
So she played with her children, and gathered flowers for them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams;
The sun shone on them, and the young Mother cried,
“Nothing will ever be lovelier than this.”
And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and the years,
and the mother grew old and she was little and bent.
But her children were tall and strong, and walked with courage.
And when the way was rough, they lifted her, for she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill, and beyond they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide.
And mother said, “I have reached the end of my journey. And now I know the end is better than the beginning, for my children can walk alone, and their children after them.”
And the children said, “You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates.”
And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates closed after her.
And they said: “We cannot see her but she is with us still. A Mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a living presence……..”
Your Mother is always with you….
She’s the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street; she’s the smell of bleach in your freshly laundered socks; she’s the cool hand on your brow when you’re not well.
Your Mother lives inside your laughter. And she’s crystallized in every tear drop.
She’s the place you came from, your first home; and she’s the map you follow with every step you take. She’s your first love and your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can separate you.
Not time, not space… Not even death.