Pragmatist
Pragmatist

I just read a story from a young woman (well, young to me), whose father died on his (and his wife's) 50th anniversary. They were celebrating a wedding, a joyful time for all, and the father died, collapsed as his wife's feet, at that celebration. The woman was sure that her beloved father was in heaven, but she sorely missed his joy, his love of family, and his love of life.

I have mourned my mother whom I never knew. She died when I was two years old, and I haven't the faintest recollection of her. I have pictures of her. I think I look a little like her. She was a small, rather plain woman, but had a radiant smile. She made all my baby clothes and added beautiful embroidery and lace. I have pictures of me in some of the dresses she made for me. I still have some linens that she embroidered.

Mother was the eldest of 8 children, and she was the "fair haired girl" according to one of my aunts. As far as my grandmother was concerned, her firstborn walked on water.

I don't remember my father either, but one of my uncles filled me with stories of the man who was one of his best friends. They did some carousing, of course, but they were hardworking woodsmen in Washington state. He was a handsome man, and the ladies liked him. I have pictures.

I wish I could remember something of my father, but it's my mother I miss. Still! How can that loss be so painful after so many years? I have grown children and grandchildren, yet I miss my mother.