With Every Step I Take…

Old Hands Writing/2

Yesterday was my mother’s birthday.  She’s passed now, passed some time ago; but with each year that passes and with each step I take toward my independence, I’m reminded of her.  I’m reminded of her perseverance and that I truly am my mother’s daughter.

When confronted with my own struggles, I’m reminded of the struggles she must have had.  This was a woman who at the young age of 41 was widowed with four (count them 4) children; ages ranging from 11 down to 1.  Only married for just short of 13 years, this can’t have been easy for her.  My father was ill for at least the last two years of their life (not majorly, but ill and growing more by the month).  The last year he was seeing the doctor each month, until finally his kidneys gave out and there was no survival.

I can’t imagine the horror, the terror, the paralysis that one would feel.  I know, many of you would tell me, “Ann, she had children and with children you have no choice but to go forward.”  But I think you do have a choice.  We see it all the time.  We read about it in all the papers, don’t we?  We see it on the five o’clock news?  Children that were abandoned or neglected; starved or worse, murdered.  She had a choice and it took much more than just ‘moving forward’ blindly’.  It took courage and LOVE.

And it took one step at a time.  With every step, the pain lessened, with every meal she cooked, the heart ached that much less.  With every stitch sewed, the heart lighted just a little bit more.  Through these memories I hope to learn that with every step I take, my pain will lessen and my heart will lighten and the ache will lessen… with every step I take.

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