This is Memorial Weekend. This weekend we remember our loved ones and those special men and women who fought so bravely for our freedom. We place a mum, a rose, a wreath upon the stone of a loved one and stand there for a little while remembering.
This Memorial Weekend I have a letter I must write. A letter that is very overdue. A letter to someone very dear to my heart. I want to write this letter before it is to late for her too read it. So I write with every word coming from deep within my heart.
My dear special Mother,
I was one and a half years old when dad brought you home to me. You walked into my heart and I onto yours. Sometimes a mother does things because she has a special kind of heart beating inside her chest. A heart that reaches out. A heart that is tender. A heart that understands the pain of another. A heart that is selfless. A heart that does a deed just because she loves and she cares. A heart that never seeks attention.
But someone noticed. Someone loved you for your deeds. That someone was your little daughter. That someone was me.
I noticed all the little things you did for my dad and me. I noticed all the love you gave and how you stood beside my dad as he worked the fields and cared for the livestock. I noticed all these things but there is one special deed that I noticed the most.
I lived at home for 21 years. Every year on Memorial Day, I remember you would go down those basement steps, pick out a wide mouth glass jar and bring it up to the kitchen. You would wrap it with tin foil to make it look pretty and then you would go outside and cut a bouquet of your prettiest flowers. After placing them just right in that glass jar, you and dad would drive to a beautiful kept cemetery and park your car.
You would take that beautiful bouquet of flowers from the back seat and you would walk beside my dad to a special little tombstone with a special name written across it. My mothers name, her birth date, and her death. You would bend down and gently place that little glass jar with its beautiful flowers, beside the little gray stone. You would brush off some grass clippings and make sure the bouquet was sitting just right.
You did not know the young mother who lay there beneath that grass. You had never met her. But you knew that she had come many miles from her homeland to live with my dad and me. You knew that across the miles, another mother and dad were thinking of their daughter and wishing they could place a beautiful bouquet beside her grave. You knew that she was loved and you loved her because you and her shared someone special. You shared a little daughter who noticed. A little daughter who noticed your kindness.
I married and moved away, but I knew that on Memorial Day, you would walk beside dad and gently place that beautiful bouquet of flowers beside my mothers stone. You never missed a year. You were always beside my father.
Tonight as I sit here writing to you, many years have passed. I am a grandma now and live miles away from you, and you live alone. Dad has joined my mother in heaven. But I know that on Memorial Day you will gather your beautiful bouquet together, get into your car and drive that short way to that little cemetery. You will carry two bouquets this time as you make your way across the lawn and to those two little gray stones. You will bend down and place the little wide mouth glass jars just right. You may stand there for a little while remembering and then turn and walk slowly back to the car.
I just want you to know, dear mother of mine, that you don't go unnoticed. Someone knows the gentle heart that beats inside your chest. Someone feels the love that pours from your spirit unhindered. Someone notices the little bits of kindness you do because your a mother.
Someone notices. Someone loves you very deeply. That someone is your daughter....that someone is me.....
This Memorial Weekend I have a letter I must write. A letter that is very overdue. A letter to someone very dear to my heart. I want to write this letter before it is to late for her too read it. So I write with every word coming from deep within my heart.
My dear special Mother,
I was one and a half years old when dad brought you home to me. You walked into my heart and I onto yours. Sometimes a mother does things because she has a special kind of heart beating inside her chest. A heart that reaches out. A heart that is tender. A heart that understands the pain of another. A heart that is selfless. A heart that does a deed just because she loves and she cares. A heart that never seeks attention.
But someone noticed. Someone loved you for your deeds. That someone was your little daughter. That someone was me.
I noticed all the little things you did for my dad and me. I noticed all the love you gave and how you stood beside my dad as he worked the fields and cared for the livestock. I noticed all these things but there is one special deed that I noticed the most.
I lived at home for 21 years. Every year on Memorial Day, I remember you would go down those basement steps, pick out a wide mouth glass jar and bring it up to the kitchen. You would wrap it with tin foil to make it look pretty and then you would go outside and cut a bouquet of your prettiest flowers. After placing them just right in that glass jar, you and dad would drive to a beautiful kept cemetery and park your car.
You would take that beautiful bouquet of flowers from the back seat and you would walk beside my dad to a special little tombstone with a special name written across it. My mothers name, her birth date, and her death. You would bend down and gently place that little glass jar with its beautiful flowers, beside the little gray stone. You would brush off some grass clippings and make sure the bouquet was sitting just right.
You did not know the young mother who lay there beneath that grass. You had never met her. But you knew that she had come many miles from her homeland to live with my dad and me. You knew that across the miles, another mother and dad were thinking of their daughter and wishing they could place a beautiful bouquet beside her grave. You knew that she was loved and you loved her because you and her shared someone special. You shared a little daughter who noticed. A little daughter who noticed your kindness.
I married and moved away, but I knew that on Memorial Day, you would walk beside dad and gently place that beautiful bouquet of flowers beside my mothers stone. You never missed a year. You were always beside my father.
Tonight as I sit here writing to you, many years have passed. I am a grandma now and live miles away from you, and you live alone. Dad has joined my mother in heaven. But I know that on Memorial Day you will gather your beautiful bouquet together, get into your car and drive that short way to that little cemetery. You will carry two bouquets this time as you make your way across the lawn and to those two little gray stones. You will bend down and place the little wide mouth glass jars just right. You may stand there for a little while remembering and then turn and walk slowly back to the car.
I just want you to know, dear mother of mine, that you don't go unnoticed. Someone knows the gentle heart that beats inside your chest. Someone feels the love that pours from your spirit unhindered. Someone notices the little bits of kindness you do because your a mother.
Someone notices. Someone loves you very deeply. That someone is your daughter....that someone is me.....
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