I’m the oldest of four kids born to my mom, Nancy Laura Webster Williams. She was still three months from her 20th birthday when I entered the world. Now, as we approach our 68th anniversary as mother and child I’m still trying to understand our indescribable bond.
Until this past year I could talk with my mother. We’d laugh and love with the sparkle in our eyes meant only for each other and with words that couldn’t begin to explain the depth of who we are together. But this past year she lost her words and laughter.
She lives but she barely knows my name and voice.
Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved. – Erich Fromm
I’m not sad. Her memories of us may be scrambled but she gave them to me for safe keeping.
I remember the songs she sang at home and the silly sense of humor she taught me. I remember her hugs and kisses and all the smart things she said; the pain and tears she shared and the sunshine of her smile that followed.
My mother loves me. She has checked every box in the official Maternal Love and Devotion handbook every single day of my existence. I’m in her heart if not quite secure in her mind.
We are the science of genetics combined with all the flowery words of poets.
Today can be a good day or a bad day. It’s up to you. – Mom
We are a mother and her son.
I will tell her again tomorrow that I love her. She might not hear me but she knows.