Mother's Day

by Mb. Morgan (Editor's Note: We ran this articles a few years ago. This article was reprinted for the May 2002 issue at the request of several readers just in time for the next Mother's Day.) Sara tidied up her bed and arranged the throw pillows so her room would look nice. She went to the bathroom, brushed her hair and put on a touch of lipstick, glancing in the mirror so she could see the reflection of the Easter Lily sitting on her dresser. It was looking a little droopy already. Anne, her daughter, had sent it to the nursing home with a card. A phone call came around three saying the family had too much planned and they couldn't come by, but would be there Mother's Day. Sara walked to her closet and took down a sweater to take with her to the dining room. She and Velma always went out for a walk in the garden after lunch. Spring had come late and it was still a little nippy outside. Maybe today they would have something special for dinner that tasted like real food for a change. Sara had been living at the rest home for eight months and still couldn't adjust to someone else's cooking or to the lights and TV being turned off at ten every night. Velma was waiting in the hall, cane in hand. The two ladies made their way down the hall to the dining room. Today there were linen table cloths, candles and a small vase of fresh flowers on all the tables in honor of all the Mothers who were not picked up and taken out to eat by their children. Sara and Velma were not alone. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Betty took off her rubber gloves, washed her hands and dried them. She looked at her reflection as she passed the huge refrigerator in the prison kitchen. Her hair needed cut and permed, her face was pale and pinched, forty-four years old and she looked sixty. She turned away and wiped a tear. Her hand shook as she signed out for the night. The guard opened the cell door and Betty walked down the concrete floor to her tiny cell. Laying on her cot was a blue envelope the guard had left for her. In the eight years she had been in prison, she hadn't received much mail. Her sister had taken her four children to raise for her. Her husband had abandoned them just before the last baby was born. On New Year's Eve night she had been at an office party, had too much to drink, icy streets, old beat up car, and had not seen the stop sign in time. She slammed on the brakes, but the ice made the car slide faster and she broad-sided another car and two people died. Betty pled guilty and went to prison. She turned the light on, sat down and picked up the card. The return address had her son's name on it. She opened the card and found a picture of herself and one of each of the children glued to a handmade Mother's Day card that read, "We love you Mom and some day we'll all be together like this." Betty smiled at the picture, then placed it open on her night stand and laid down so she could see it. The guard yelled "lock down," the cell doors slammed shut and the lights went out. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Marcy flew into Atlanta late on Saturday night. She picked up her rent-a-car and drove to her motel on the east side of the city. She was fifty-two, childless and owned a large chain of clothing stores on the east coast. She was now expanding in the southern states. Marcy had been an only child and her mother had been murdered in her home during a robbery. Marcy was away at college at the time it happened. She had arrived in Atlanta two days early because she had something special to do on Sunday. Marcy unpacked a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, and a pull-over tee shirt, clothing she had not worn in thirty years. These were the clothes she had on when her father called to inform her of her mother's death. Sunday was bright and warm, the trees were in full bloom, the grass was turning bright green and a warm breeze made the countryside come alive with movement. Marcy turned off the main highway and drove south to a small town. She had grown up here and was surprised at how little it had changed. The road to the cemetery was still not paved. A childhood friend had taken care of the gravesite for Marcy till last year, when she had moved away. Marcy had stopped at a mall and bought everything she needed to trim and clean up the area around her mother's resting place. She spent the afternoon trimming, digging and pulling weeds. She planted a pot of flowers next to the head stone. She sat down next to the grave and told her mother she loved her and had worn these old clothes in hopes she would recognize her. It was getting late and the warm sun was dropping behind the huge old trees. Marcy loaded her tools and stood by the car for one last look. The wind came up and the pine trees began to sway. Marcy smiled, remembering her mother telling her as a child, "The pine trees sing when the wind blows." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Jo Ellen sat on her front porch and watched another beautiful Texas sunset. She could see the trail of dust the real estate lady's car was making as she headed for the paved road that lead to town. Jo Ellen was all alone. Her husband had passed on last winter and their only son had been killed in Vietnam. All she had left was the ranch and an older sister in Florida. She had made the deal to sell the ranch and move to Florida. She was sixty and unable to run the place alone. In her lap laid a small class ring box she had found while packing. It was pale blue velvet, and as she opened it a smile came to her face. A curl of reddish blond hair lay inside. She was sixteen the first year her dad had let her drive a grain truck during wheat harvest. The boy was seventeen, and on harvest with his dad, all the way from Montana. He had blue eyes, red hair and a new pickup. They went to the Saturday night dances and Sunday picnics. He was her first love. It lasted over a month and then he followed the harvest into Oklahoma and was gone. Six weeks later she learned she would never forget him. Needless to say, back in the fifties, you went to stay with Aunt Alice in Dallas and the adoption was arranged through the church and some Christian family in Kansas who would have longed for a baby that had been conceived on a blanket, in a meadow close to the Brazos River in West Texas. A nurse at the hospital slipped the piece of the child's hair to Jo Ellen the night the baby was born. Jo Ellen remembered what the nurse told her that night, "She will always be a part of you and now you will always have a part of her." EVERY LIVING BREATHING BEING ON THIS EARTH HAS ONE. WHERE IS YOURS????