I found a letter my mother wrote to my sister in her old cookbook;
”Lock the front door and go to bed in my bed – I will call you - Mom.”
If I could just go back for a moment to that time and that place - our small house with the gold painted walls - my mom walking up the steps, coming home from work in her nurse¹s cap.
Just one more day, sitting at the dining room table, the open window at my back letting in the late summer heat, the early evening light, the droning of a lawn mower. The six of us at the crowded table, spread with the summer food - slices of tomato, baked beans, cottage cheese, iced tea in a ceramic jug.
Just one more night, out on the front curb, listening to the whispering adults on the front porches; lying back in the cool grass, watching the fireflies, waiting for something ominous to move in the night sky.
There was no time without my mother then - and it’s true - she will always be there.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
I found a letter my mother wrote to my sister in her old cookbook;
”Lock the front door and go to bed in my bed – I will call you - Mom.”
If I could just go back for a moment to that time and that place - our small house with the gold painted walls - my mom walking up the steps, coming home from work in her nurse¹s cap.
Just one more day, sitting at the dining room table, the open window at my back letting in the late summer heat, the early evening light, the droning of a lawn mower. The six of us at the crowded table, spread with the summer food - slices of tomato, baked beans, cottage cheese, iced tea in a ceramic jug.
Just one more night, out on the front curb, listening to the whispering adults on the front porches; lying back in the cool grass, watching the fireflies, waiting for something ominous to move in the night sky.
There was no time without my mother then - and it’s true - she will always be there.
My mother, Louise Gay Good Murrill, died suddenly on May 16, 1986. She never said goodbye but we were complete.
Request permission to use this poem