Through a weird twist of fate my original blog got eaten by Internet gnomes. And as I go along I am able to re-capture some of the posts via the online backup service called Wayback Machine. Unfortunately the lion share of the posts are long gone, but every once in a while I come across one – and today I found this one from Mother’s Day 2007. And in an attempt to preserve it I’m going to go ahead and post it again on the new site.

Mother’s Day 2007

I’ve never been able to fully understand how deeply my mom had touched me as I was growing up. Before she passed away I had never thought that any one person could ever be so important in my life. She raised me to take chances, to listen to the still small voice that is guiding each of us, to look for the door that is opening instead of focusing on the one that is closing. She also taught me that life unfolds and that I am responsible for doing what is right on every occasion, but that I shouldn’t beat myself up for each mistake along the way. If there are any good qualities in this dude, I learned them from my mom.


Mom was the best at “just being there”. She was ALWAYS there even after going out on my own, she was always just a phone call away. “How do I boil an egg?”; “Will bleach hurt my blue jeans?”; “Will my broken heart mend?”. And she was there to patiently comfort, instruct, encourage (and many times to rebuke).

One of her favorite sayings was “I won’t take credit for your successes if you don’t blame me for your failures”. She was humble that way, never going around bragging about her kids, but always filled with pride for each and every accomplishment we were making on our own.

Most of all she taught me to be gentle – because everything in this world is fragile from friendship to work to hugging your mother. It all should be held gently and cared for as precious.


Didn’t she have pretty handwriting? She was a lefty.

There are two things that represent the years I was blessed with Mom’s presence: coffee and crochet.

She taught me to crochet when I was five years old and I took to it quickly. I mostly just used up her odd scraps of skeins and made a bazillion potholders. My abilities grew and we helped each other figure out some of the most complex crochet designs I had seen even to this day. And during the period when she went through some major challenges herself I sat with her and we crocheted and I listened as she worked things out.

Even though Mom didn’t finish high school or have a “career” she worked hard to make sure that all her kids had the essentials like food and clothes. But the one thing she could afford was to go for coffee with her sister in our little town. As a young boy I would go along of course and pretend that I was reading a book but I was really listening to my aunt talk about her husband, and how hard work was that day, and mom would look so happy and safe there. As I grew into a teen we would go for coffee just her and I and we would talk about how hard school was that day, and mom would look so happy and safe. All was well as long as the bottomless 25 cent cup of coffee was in front of us.

Now I do know how deeply Mom touched me growing up. Her passing has left a large hole in my heart that I’m convinced even all these years later, will never be filled again. When I look into the emptiness there, the quiet void where once there was a comforting voice and strict admonition I can start to smile now because I’m filling it with one of the biggest gifts she ever gave me: crochet. And I hope she would be proud.

md032007Mom and I when she came to visit me in Mexico, circa 1994

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