Unspoken
All the things I should have said to you must remain unspoken. I have to settle for writing them out here, which is only a poor substitute.
I should have written you every day, telling you all about our children, and how wonderful they are.
I should have sent you cards and notes, and called you on the phone. Even the most trivial of things would have been of deep interest to you, I'm certain of it. I should have shared my experiences of motherhood with you, and asked for your advice. I should have asked for your recipes for rice pudding, baked corn. I should have asked you what my father was like as a boy, and told you stories of our son, who reminds me of him.
I didn't, and now it is too late.
I have so many happy memories of childhood; you are in most of them. Time spent at the cottage with the other cousins, going to Vacation Bible School, those plaster of paris fruit molds when we learned about the Fruits of the Spirit. Chef Boyardee pizza in a box, fried squash, snowcones, and the teacups you let us drink out of. Rice pudding, made with so much love. Dominoes, and the way you would click them together and say "Played". Your sense of humour, and the way you smelt of Mitchum deodorant, Mary Kay night cream, and your voice saying "Don't jiggle the bed, it makes me dizzy" when reading us stories. Your annual return from Florida, and how excited we were to show you how we'd grown. I remember your presence in church, and asking you for gum. Trident cinnamon was always my favourite, by the way.
You had such a beautiful faith, and I have tucked away a scrap of paper, with your handwriting, bearing the Fruits of the Spirit. My prayer for today is that I would live out those fruits daily, leaving a legacy which came from you, and will continue on for generations yet to come.
Sarah
I should have written you every day, telling you all about our children, and how wonderful they are.
I should have sent you cards and notes, and called you on the phone. Even the most trivial of things would have been of deep interest to you, I'm certain of it. I should have shared my experiences of motherhood with you, and asked for your advice. I should have asked for your recipes for rice pudding, baked corn. I should have asked you what my father was like as a boy, and told you stories of our son, who reminds me of him.
I didn't, and now it is too late.
I have so many happy memories of childhood; you are in most of them. Time spent at the cottage with the other cousins, going to Vacation Bible School, those plaster of paris fruit molds when we learned about the Fruits of the Spirit. Chef Boyardee pizza in a box, fried squash, snowcones, and the teacups you let us drink out of. Rice pudding, made with so much love. Dominoes, and the way you would click them together and say "Played". Your sense of humour, and the way you smelt of Mitchum deodorant, Mary Kay night cream, and your voice saying "Don't jiggle the bed, it makes me dizzy" when reading us stories. Your annual return from Florida, and how excited we were to show you how we'd grown. I remember your presence in church, and asking you for gum. Trident cinnamon was always my favourite, by the way.
You had such a beautiful faith, and I have tucked away a scrap of paper, with your handwriting, bearing the Fruits of the Spirit. My prayer for today is that I would live out those fruits daily, leaving a legacy which came from you, and will continue on for generations yet to come.
Sarah
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