New Castle News
NEW CASTLE —
I'm a terrible son. I’ll can freely admit my shortcomings.
Well, maybe not as awful as some. I've never been in prison or killed anyone (though I may have thought about it). I’ve never been a drug addict or a drunk. I remember most of the holidays, birthdays and celebrations and I'm capable of supporting myself and my family.
I play nicely with others, I can cook, do my own laundry, and even clean a bathroom.
However there is one mighty thing that I am lacking in the son department. It is a rather embarrassing thing to admit in such a forum as this, but I've concluded that there is no better way to remedy a lifetime of blundering than to shout my repentance from the mountaintop (or at least via the leading news organization in our area).
So, here goes:
Deep breath ... Aaaah, Mom, I love you.
Believe it or not, I don’t recall ever saying “I love you” to her. I am 40 years old and I have never told that to the woman who gave me life and spent her life raising me into the man I am. As of this Mother's Day I am rectifying my mistake. I don’t want to be the man at her bedside in her final days begging for another moment just to tell her I love her. I can't be one who sits back and reminisces about all the missed chances and forsaken opportunities.
She sacrificed, cooked and cleaned for my brother and I. She made our old house a home and could turn any variety of garden vegetables or wild game into a scrumptious and healthy dinner for our family. She always tended to me in sickness. She held my head as I threw-up and willingly cleaned out the puke bucket. She also took care to my many injuries and broken bones with the bedside manner that only a loving mother could have.
Our pastor used to have an anecdote about an old grandmother ironing clothes and praying over the clothes and those people who would wear them as she ironed. I can picture my mom in our little laundry room with the washing machine rumbling away in the background doing exactly that. Wishing and praying blessings on my brother and I as she ironed our school clothes.
She also was a great provider of taxi service. She ran us from baseball games and practice, to football games and practice to other school events and even to the innumerable church events we were involved in. Good thing gas was only about 70 cents per gallon then.
She was saintly in her execution and diligent in her efforts to raise us boys right. She could be strict when needed, yet protective and nurturing a moment later. She also knew how to stir the fear of God in us and how to let us feed our curiosity and development.
She now spends numerous days with my own daughter when I'm stuck at work, slaving away for the almighty dollar. I'm thankful because I know that she is in the same safe environment that I grew up in.
I write all this to say thank you, Mom. You are my rock, my encourager and my helper.
Thank you and I love you for every bit of it.