#63 Today is All Saints' Sunday

Today is the day Christians celebrate that those who have died in Christ live forever. During "pass the peace" in church today we were asked to share who we were remembering. The ones I shook hands with were remembering their mothers, or parents. In the 1990s I realized I was losing many of the "mothers of my childhood," although my own mother was still living (she died in 2000). I wrote this poem in memory of these precious saints.

The Mothers of Our Childhood
February 20, 1997

I have filed a report
and sounded the alarm.
We are missing the Mothers:
They're nowhere to be found.

Strong women disappeared while
I was living away.
Perhaps a moment ago,
a year or a decade.

Housewife, retailer, artist;
teacher, farmer and clerk.
Secretary, volunteer;
No doctor, lawyer, chief.

Velda, Gladys, Marian, Millie;
Rosalie, Reta, Rose, and Ruth;
Alice, Hazel, Ada, and Esther:
Born during the century's youth.

Finish this list of Mothers
while I go look around.
No, the veil closed behind them;
they're gone. We are alone.

* * * *

For Rosalie Balluff, Ruth Crowell, Rose Fleming, Gladys Johnson, Mildred Lamm, Esther Masterson, Marian Miller, Velda Plum, Hazel Potter, Ruth Rothermel, Reta Saunders, Ada Thomas, Alice Zickuhr and all the other Mothers of unwritten verses.

One had no children.
One was my scout leader.
One was my employer.
One reached out in sorrow.
Two were sisters-in-law.
Two were sisters of my father.
Two had daughters married to the sons of two others.
Three lived on our block when I was a pre-schooler.
Three died before I was married.
Three died this past year.
Four were members of my church.
Ten were mothers of my classmates.
Thirteen lived in Mt. Morris.