I can remember as a young girl coming home from school and being greeted with the scent of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls. Oh how I never got tired of it.
The first thing I did when I entered my home was call for mama. She would answer, “Yes, dear. I am here.” I always knew she was home but just the little bit of reassurance was all I needed. To me this was my world, my security.
My mother was a hard worker, she got up really early to get my father off to work, prepare breakfast for her children, get her children up and off to school. She spent her days cleaning the house, preparing meals, sewing clothes, crocheting, quilting, canning fruits and vegetables. Her days were full and I imagine it made her life complete.
I had always had nightmares from a young age and would wake up terrified and run to my mothers’ room to be held and comforted. I was also prone to fall asleep on my arm only to be woken up by having my arm cramped up and me once again running to my mom and she would tirelessly rub my arm till the feeling came back. She never uttered a complaint.
The times I was so sick, she always did what she could to ease my discomfort and sometimes it was enough to just have her lay by me while I slept. I remember one time I was being rocked by her and I was looking up into her face and my thought was how beautiful she was.
She didn’t ask for much except to be loved and appreciated, but as ingrateful as kids can be I was one of the worse. Even through the turmoil of our oil and water relationship I always loved the memories of the things she did to make our house a home. I love you mama.