Jill,

Sometime in the year before my mother died, I found a framed copy of the
following poem. I gave it to her as one her gifts on the Christmas before
she died the following March. I don’t know who wrote it, but I wanted to
share it with you. I was barely able to speak at her funeral. I read this
poem instead.
__________________________________________________ _______________________

Most Precious Mother,

This I know . . . . . As your child, I have received the most genuine and
important message from you. I know you love me and have always loved me.

I know you have, to the best of your ability, with the work of your body,
dedication of your mind, and strength of your soul, given me love, shelter
and food. You have given me as much of your time as possible in this
hectic, hurried world. You have given me fun and laughter. You have given
me safety and protection. You have taught me about life’s unpleasantries
without scaring me too much. In my darkest moments, you appeared with
comfort and understanding. I always knew you were on my side.

I know you did the best you could with the tools you were given. Because
of this, the door to my heart is always open to you.

Thank you for the pleasures and treasures you have given me, both deserved
and not. I know at times I troubled you, and for this I am sorry. There
has never been anything you have done that has taken away my unconditional
love for you. Always and now, in my eyes, heart, and soul, you are to me
the most loving touch, the kindest thought, and the most perfect gift.

I have never known a time I did not love you . . . . . I loved you with
every breath you took . . . . . I will love you . . . . . forever.
__________________________________________________ _______________________


I also wrote of her, many months later, “Fleeting beauty as the years pass
by are my memories of you.”


--
Wayne Boatwright
(correct the spelling of "geemail" to reply)
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Date: Saturday, 11(XI)/22(XXII)/08(MMVIII)
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Countdown till U.S. Thanksgiving Day
4dys 4hrs 56mins
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What's the good of being grown-up if you can't be childish?
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