Saturday, May 1, 2010

The Portrait of a Mother

Someone once said that her expression was harsh.
She did not smile very often.
Her face was round; her mouth almost a straight line.
Her brown eyes had depth.
She suffered much pain.
Her memories of a relative who died on the operating table
prevented her from seeking medical help.
She finally had the surgery and survived.
Her love was a jealous and very possessive affection.
She'd spare the food out of her own mouth to feed me.
While in agony of pain she sewed me a coat.
I was only 18 years old when she died of cancer.
On her gravestone it said: "The Lord preserves the simple" (Psalm 116:6).
When I was 19 years old I found out who she really was.
She could never be a mother, but had cared for her niece's child.
She did not want this child to know.
This person was the mother who sat with me
and prayed for me when I was ill.
She cried for me when I was in pain.
Her love was genuine.
I will always remember her as MY MOTHER.


Lyn Kublick said...

Beautiful story! She truly was your mother, but you did meet your birth mother later, didn't you?

Addy Oberlin said...

When I was 19 years old I found out who my birth mother was. I am still in touch with her. We went to help her celebrate her 90th birthday in Holland this year.

Nel said...

what a lovely story Addy, I think there is a bit of your own history in there!

Addy Oberlin said...

Yes, Nel, this is my own story.