Sunday is Mother’s Day. As it approaches, it brings back many memories of my mother’s impact on my life.

She was a special woman—one who had an opinion on most things, especially how her children should be brought up. This becomes clear in . . .

My Mother’s Way

Over seven decades ago, into this world I came,

A bouncing baby boy, at that moment without a name.

A bundle from heaven, yet the cause of much hell,

A sweet little angel, all could tell.

Upon entering my new domain, many strangers I did meet,

The first, of course, my mother—a woman so sweet.

Good intentions she had, yet her way was strange.

I had not been here long, but already my life she began to arrange.

Now my mother was charming, attractive, and very bright.

This being said, it was not surprising she was always right.

She directed my life in her own righteous way,

Even instructing me on how, when, and where to play.

“The game is too rough, you’ll get hurt,” she would say.

These statements followed me day after day.

She monitored my schoolwork and grades received.

She was both an ardent critic and great supporter of what I achieved.

As I grew from a child into a young man,

The less of me, my mother could understand.

I wanted my independence, to run my life in my own way.

Yet my mother always was there with something to say.

When I started to date, at first I came home early, then, at times, late.

Yet no matter the time, there on the living room couch, my mother would wait.

Her hair in disarray, appearing tired, but eyes focused and intent,

Questions about my date she fired at me, on getting answers, she was hell bent.

My eyes would bulge, my head would spin,

One wish had I, my bed to get in.

Mother continued her inquiry, asking about my big date.

Tortured, I replied, “But Mom it’s getting late.”

She pried still further, about what I did.

“Mom,” I said, “I’m no longer a kid.”

Mom soon got tired of administering the third degree.

Exhausted was I, for it was almost three.

I picked up my drooping head and to my surprise,

Mom’s head had fallen to her chest, closed were her eyes.

I got up from the couch, covered Mom with a blanket, and shut off the light,

Breathed a sigh of relief, and kissed Mom good night.

As the years passed, my mother’s way played a role in the decisions I made.

With her support and prodding, I was successful in climbing life’s grade.

The many things I accomplished pleased Mom and made her proud.

She cheered my successes, as I stood out from the crowd.

Today, as I traverse my daily paths, searching for the answers I need to find,

I try to be sincere and caring, keeping Mom’s words, her way, in mind.

Now that Mom travels amongst the clouds in the heavens above,

I carry with me her unending teachings and her enduring love.

Copyright © 2013 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.