I wish every child could be blessed to have a mother like mine.
When my five sisters and I were babies in her womb, she never took so much as an aspirin for a headache — never ingested anything but the nutrients we needed to grow healthy and strong.
As a child, my world was rock-solid because of her. She put our needs so far before her own that we didn’t know she had needs of her own. She loved us without condition.
I was so unaware of the fear and pain that less fortunate children suffer that I didn’t even know such concepts existed.
I still can’t tell a lie, thanks to her, and I even blush when I’m innocent and people think I’m lying. The only thing she hates more than dishonesty is phoniness.
She made sure we were, above all, genuine — genuinely concerned about the needs of other people rather than our own.
She enjoys simple things. The smell of a flower sends her into fits. The silliness of a child makes her laugh for days.
Until we lost our dad four years ago, she sat outside on the deck every morning, enjoying the smell of spring, the taste of fresh coffee and long conversations with her lifelong companion — the man who first struck her fancy in 1951, when she was only 14.
She prizes graciousness and friendliness. She treats everyone the way she wants to be treated. She is always full of compassion, understanding and curiosity.
The phone still rings constantly at her home, with people calling for consolation, reassurance or to be cheered up on a down day.
Her blessings extend far and wide in our family. She has 17 grandchildren, 11 great-grandchildren and another on the way — and few things bring her more excitement than a new family member entering the world.
We threw a surprise 89th birthday party for her recently. Her children came in from out of town. Old friends and neighbors were there.
It was wonderful to hear so many stories about her from so many different points of view. It was eye-opening to learn the profound impact she had on every person in that room.
Her impact on me is deep.
Thanks to her, I see beauty in all things. I love coffee on the deck every morning. I love the smell of spring flowers, and simple things can make me laugh for hours. I became a writer because of her endless encouragement.
For 64 years, she has toiled, struggled, suffered and sacrificed on my behalf. She’s given everything she has without asking anything in return.
I am aware of how blessed I am to have my mother in my life for so many years.
Her presence and example propel me toward greater beauty and goodness — they inspire me to be a better person.
Since the beginning of time, mothers like mine have been the key to all things great and good in humanity.
As Abraham Lincoln said 176 years ago, “All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.”
Me too, Abraham.
I wish every child could be blessed to have a mother like mine.
Find Tom Purcell’s syndicated column, humor books, and funny videos of his dog, Thurber, at TomPurcell.com. Email him at Tom@TomPurcell.com.
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