Welcome to our Mothers Day Dedication Page This Page Dedicated To Our Best Friend - Mother|
-Mothers Day was first recognized in 1907. Ana Jarvis, who was from Philadelphia, began a campaign to establish a national Mother's Day. Ms. Jarvis persuaded her mother's church in Grafton, West Virginia to celebrate Mother's Day on the second anniversary of her mother's death. Six years later President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed the second Sunday in May for public observance of Mother's Day. It is now observed in countries all around the world.
Carnations are the Mothers Day flowers: pink to be worn for a living mother and white if the mother has died. Children honor their mothers on this day with gifts, visits, and the wearing of carnations.
Mothers Day date is observed Sunday, May 14
Countdown To Mothers Day
"M" is for the million things she gave me,
"O" means only that she's growing old,
"T" is for the tears she shed to save me,
"H" is for her heart of purest gold;
"E" is for her eyes, with love-light shining,
"R" means right, and right she'll always be,
Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER",
A word that means the world to me.
All that I am or hope to be I owe to my angel mother. I remember my mother's prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life.
President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed the second Sunday in May for public observance of Mother's Day. It now is observed in all countries around the world.
"Mothers who protect, teach, and nurture their children with all their hearts strengthen their families and help build a better future for our country." -- President George W. Bush In 2004
Mothers Are Special
A Mothers Love She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street.
She's the smell of bleach in your freshly laundered socks.
She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not well.
Your mother lives inside your laughter.
She's crystallized in every tear drop.
She's the place you came from, your first home.
She's the map you follow with every step that you take.
She's your first love and your first heart break...
and nothing on earth can separate you.
Not time, Not space... Not even death...
will ever separate you from your mother
You carry her inside of you
Your Mother is always with you
A Mothers Love determines how
We love ourselves and others.
There is no sky we'll ever see
Not lit by that first love.
Stripped of love, the universe
Would drive us mad with pain;
But we are born into a world
That greets our cries with joy.
How much I owe you for the
That told me who I was!
The greatest gift--a love of life--
Lay laughing in your eyes.
Because of you my world still
The soft grace of your smile;
And every wind of fortune bears
The scent of your caress.
By - Nicholas Gordon
Thanks to: *Turlough O'Carolan*
Mother At Dusk
At dusk, my mother would often turn melancholy and stare out at the flat marshes that lay between our house and the bay.
Beyond the bay was the barrier island, and beyond that the ocean. Clouds often hung over the landscape like enormous white balloons, and at dusk they glowed pink and violet before settling into a darkness that finally drew my mother back to the life within.
As a small child, I couldn't understand my mother's penchant for melancholy, but nonetheless I resented it, sensing correctly that there was something out there that was drawing her away from me, something that, despite my love for her and my desperate efforts to please her, would not allow her to be pleased or happy just with me.
As I grew older, I learned what it was. When my mother was pregnant with me, my father and sister went sailing in the bay. A sudden storm came up, and, with my mother watching from the kitchen window, the little boat struggled through violent gusts of wind to get back to the wooden dock at the end of the path down from the house. My mother ran screaming down the path as the boat capsized, throwing my father and sister into the turbulent water before my mother's eyes.
Their bodies were found the next day washed up in marshes that lined the shore of the bay.
How many times my mother relived that moment I can't say, but I know that at dusk she would station herself at the kitchen window and stare longingly out at the bay, allowing the unlit room behind her to grow as dark as the reality she reached for, the mood that matched her unslaked sorrow.
For me it was like having a rival sibling against whom I was powerless to compete. My sister Rebecca was four years old when she drowned, and pictures of her at various ages in her short life were scattered about the house. I couldn't get away from her.
Not that I was neglected. Not at all. Until I went to college and then settled in a distant state, I had my mother all to myself. At least as far as living relatives went. Or friends. We lived alone in that isolated house on the marshes. My father had left my mother an ample living through insurance and savings, and she never had the urge to go out into the larger world in search of friends or a career. She was like someone obsessed with a beautiful but heartbreaking piece of music, playing it over and over and over, to the exclusion of everything else.
When I grew old enough to realize how unhealthy life was for me in that house, I escaped to places far away, leaving my mother alone with her sorrow. But of course there is no escaping one's childhood. Whether I inherited a tendency towards melancholy, or was injected with it in utero at the time of the catastrophe, or imbibed it through all the years I spent alone with my mother, or, most likely, all three, it survived my marriage, my own children, my domestic happiness, to suffuse my life with a never-to-be-satisfied longing for something I could never have.
And now I was at the little house on the marshes to take my mother back with me. She was getting too old to live by herself, having survived a mild stroke and a broken hip, either one of which might have been enough to convince a less stubborn individual that it was time to live a bit nearer help.
"I don't want help," my mother insisted. "I want to die here."
"You need help," I said. "I want you to be somewhere where I can help you."
"Then why did you move so far away?" she said, repeating an oft-stated complaint.
"A million reasons," I said, repeating an oft-stated reply. "All good. But now you need me."
"I always needed you."
"I mean physically."
"I mean really."
There was, of course, no answer to that. I allowed guilt to suffuse me, painting my earlobes red, while inside the justification tape was playing: Why couldn't you just move on after the tragedy? Live a normal life? Enjoy me? Why did you have to let two dead people pre-empt your embrace?
We both sighed at what it was futile to discuss, and then I went back to what I came for.
"You'll have a nice apartment overlooking a garden," I said. "With a kitchenette. You can cook your own meals or go to the dining room. You can have friends there, you won't be so alone."
"I don't mind being alone," she said.
"They're not out there," I said. "They're as close to where you're going as they are to here."
"I know," she said. "I've been looking at that landscape almost my whole life. It's part of me. It's not them. For years and years it hasn't been them."
She started crying, her tears belying her words.
"You should havee left here long ago," I said. "You shouldn't have stayed. You should have started a new life without them, left them behind."
"I knew you were jealous of them," she said through her tears. "But I didn't know what to do about it. You were insatiable. Utterly insatiable. I let you gobble me up. It was no good for either of us. But I tried. Believe me, I tried."
Of course I knew from her tears that she had given in. But it turned out to be a mistake. Heartbroken, homesick, out of her element, my mother quickly deteriorated, lasting less than a year.
On the night after she was buried, I had a dream. I was my own age, and my mother was as she had been when I had come to bring her home with me. At dusk, instead of standing at the kitchen window, my mother went down the path to the rotting dock. I followed her.
The pink and violet gilding of the clouds had passed, and darkness was swiftly settling in. Out of the gray water and sky a small sailboat appeared, heading for the wooden slip, on it my father and sister, whom I could barely make out in the darkness.
The boat came by the slip. My father expertly threw a rope over the left middle post and pulled the boat alongside as my mother clambered in. He and my mother embraced, he at the age at which he died, she at the age at which she had left the house, and then she picked up my sister and kissed her on the cheek.
Without a word to or glance towards me, my father took the rope off the post and kicked off with a vigorous shove of his foot against the slip. None of the three looked at me as the boat disappeared into the darkness.
In the dream, I stood on the dock as they pulled away and smiled and waved, smiled and waved. "Goodbye!" I shouted to my mother. "Goodbye, Mom! I love you!"
But the little family paid no attention to me at all. It was as if I were not there. Were never there. Were simply not.
By: Nicholas Gordon
A MOTHER IS
A Mom, Loving, Hard Working, Fun, Strong, Beautiful, Over Protective, Super Fine, Caring, Honest and Kind!
Mothers Word Scramble Search
Use theaw letters to find all words.
3. rdaH rnikoWg
7. Oevr tivrePceto
8. Sprue amnWo
9. iargnC 10. nHetso
Free Word Search Puzzle
More Mothers Quotes
"Of all the rights of women, the greatest is to be a mother."
By - Lin Yutang
"Youth fades; love droops, the leaves of friendship fall; A mother's
"The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you
will always find forgiveness."
By - Honore' de Balzac (1799-1850)
"The mother's heart is the child's schoolroom."
By - Henry Ward Beecher (1813-1887)
Mothers Poems at Our Holiday Site
By Birth Of a Heart
Moms are special all the time and we have dedicated this page for all the Mothers out there. And to Mother's Day. Happy Mother's Day, A mothers love, A mothers day, Mothers, Mothers are special, Mothers word search, Moms.
Flowers for Mom
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