Monday, April 20, 2009

Happy Birthday, Mom




Miss you.

8 comments:

Cadance said...

very pretty picture! =)

Shawn said...

Beautiful daisy pic!

Happy b-day to your Mom!

Lynne's Somewhat Invented Life said...

I hope you like this. I love it and am going to memorize it. I'm a slow memorizer but I think it's worth it.

I love you, miss you and am so glad I'm your friend. I hope you enjoy this:

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 sox. 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 teardrop.

She's the place you came from---your first home---and she's the map you follow with every step that you take. She's your first love and your first heart-break and nothing on earth can separate you, not time, not space, not even death.

whirligigdaisy said...

Oh, Lynne. That is beautiful.

Ratchfords said...

I didn't know your mom, but my parents thought the world of her.

When they moved from our house in town to their new house, they had 25 years worth of stuff and not very many people helping with the move. Your mom was driving by, saw them hauling boxes, and stayed to help for several hours. It meant SO much to them. My dad still talks about it to this day, that your mom was one of the best examples of service he's ever known, to just drop everything and help out someone in need.

She sounds like one amazing lady.

Lynne's Somewhat Invented Life said...

I googled those thought to see if I could find the author and came up with a more complete version. Still no author. Here it is:

Your mother is always with you. She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street.

She's the smell of certain foods you remember, the flowers you buy and the perfume that she wore.

She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not feeling well, she's your breath in the air on a cold winter's day.

She's the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the colours of a rainbow, she is Christmas morning.

Your mother lives inside your laughter. . . she is crystallised in every tear drop.

A mother shows every emotion . . . happiness, love, hate, anger, helplessness, excitement, joy and sorrow. And all the while, hoping and praying you will only know the good things in life.

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, your first friend, and even your first enemy, but nothing on earth can separate you. Not time, not space and not even death.

Damama T said...

Your mom shares a birthday with my youngest son, Twig. Tauruses RULE!

Damama T said...

Wow, I just read Lynne's comment. That poem is so beautiful. Now I'm crying... Being a motherless mother is a hard road to walk. It helps to remember that our mothers are never really far away. Thanks, Lynne. Hugs, Ms. D.

Now I'm gonna go catch up on what you've been doing these last zillion months since I've been away.

xoxoxo