A Mother Can Write About LIfe

Mother’s Day is next Sunday.  I think of a lot of mothers, including my own, during this national holiday.  When I taught elementary kids, it was something I felt like I had to start a month ahead, so the kids didn’t rush through the project and regret it when they handed the gift/card to their mothers.

Usually, I’m thinking months ahead about my mom.  I want to get her something to make her smile, surprise her or make her cry, (In a good way).  I know, to her, the gift itself isn’t the important thing.  She appreciates anything with a thought of her.  

This Mother’s Day will be one of the rare times I won’t be there to share the day or weekend with her.  It’s another thing she doesn’t make a big deal about.  She doesn’t call and say, “Are you coming up for Mother’s Day?”  or “What are we going to do for Mother’s Day?”  

I want to share a poem she wrote months ago.  I think it’s beautiful.  My mom is 88 years old.  She’s still writing poetry.  If you’d have asked me, when I was 30, if I thought my mom was a writer?  I’d have doubted it.  When she references the “Bob Tree” it’s a tree that was planted, in her yard in St. Ignace, in memory of my brother, Bob.  Her son, Bob, died in 1990.

Mom, Walking in the Shade of the Bob Tree,
Toward Her Home

  My Autumn   

                    by Paula Cronan  

                               Fall-2013

Some days I feel like the Bob Tree.

Anchored strong,

with purpose ahead.

Today?

I feel my leaves are shedding.

Each a tear, blowing in grief.

Only to be caught again by the wind.

Tossed for a moment in joy of living.

Where am I?

What am I doing, as my days slowly approach the unknown,

that lies ahead?

Will it be illness with dependency on those I love,

who are hard pressed to keep up with the world,

as it picks up speed?

My prayer is that I will go gently.

As a leaf bedded down in the gently falling snow.

And I will somehow, some way

spring to eternal life.

Take my hand, 

come into my heart and lead me through;

Tears of grief

Gratitude

Joy.

Tumbling together in this turmoil of life.

Mom's Backyard,
 in Winter