Ethel Rose

Today would have been my mother’s 83rd birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom.

I remember a conversation I had with her while driving home from a doctor’s appointment, let’s see, that would have been like 18 or 19 years ago. The realization that she might not live as long as she had hoped and prayed for had begun to sink in, I think. We were talking about her radiation treatments and when the next scheduled one was, when suddenly she blurted out, “You won’t forget me, will you?”

Fat chance, Mom. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t remember and think of you in some way. Because it’s the month for Mother’s Day and because it’s your birthday, here’s a little poem I have always loved. For you, Mom. Loved, missed and never forgotten.


A Mother’s Love Determines How

A mother’s 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 kiss
That told me who I was!
The greatest gift—a love of life—
Lay laughing in your eyes.

Because of you my world still has
The soft grace of your smile;
And every wind of fortune bears
The scent of your caress.

Nicholas Gordon