About Memories

I’m cleaning, and cleaning, and cleaning. And organizing, and packing and staging. Trouble is, I keep getting sidetracked by my knick-knacks and the memories attached to them. I’m a saver. I save things.Some worth saving, some SO not worth saving!  I saved a Lego Santa that Greg made me years ago. (worth saving). A bunch of keys I have no idea what they go to! (not worth saving-or maybe they are???) Pictures, pictures, pictures. (worth saving) Lotions and potions and creams and gels and makeup and sprays, six trashbags full to be exact. (not worth saving)


Now I’ve moved on to the kitchen/living areas of the house. I’ve packed away lots of framed pictures today, because that’s what all the staging pros and HGTV says you’re supposed to do. “de-personalizing” it’s called. Yep. That’s exactly what it is. Anyway, I found a stash of notes and cards from my precious Mom. So glad I saved those! (We should write more real notes these days, and send less emails and texts! Just my opinion.) Inside one of those notes I found this printed poem, with a note from my Mom thanking me for being her precious daughter. What an honor to be hers. As I wipe away the tears, I thought I’d share it with you…

 Two Mothers Remembered
by Joann Snow Duncanson

I had two Mothers – two Mothers I claim
Two different people, yet with the same name.

Two separate women, diverse by design,
But I loved them both because they were mine.

The first was the Mother who carried me here,
Gave birth and nurtured and launched my career.

She was the one whose features I bear,
Complete with the facial expressions I wear.

She gave me her love, which follows me yet,
Along with the examples in life that she set.

As I got older, she somehow younger grew,
And we’d laugh as just Mothers and daughters should do.

But then came the time that her mind clouded so,
And I sensed that the Mother I knew would soon go.

So quickly she changed and turned into the other,
A stranger who dressed in the clothes of my Mother.

Oh, she looked the same, at least at arm’s length,
But now she was the child and I was her strength.

We’d come full circle, we women three,
My Mother the first, the second and me.

And if my own children should come to a day,
When a new Mother comes and the old goes away.

I’d ask of them nothing that I didn’t do.
Love both of your Mothers as both have loved you.

 

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