Herbert Smith

Me and Mom

An old man has some fond memories of his mother.

A true story.

Mothers Day has came and gone, but the thoughts of my mother are still strong in my heart. Hardly a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of my mom. Mother passed away on Easter Sunday, 1993. I miss my mom.
Things or events in everyday life bring the memories flooding in. Just the other day as I was listening to the radio, a song by Hank Williams was played. Almost instantly, an image appeared. I could see myself walking into the kitchen through the back door after having finished my outside chores. The voice of Hank Williams, singing “Lovesick Blues” was playing on the radio, and the aroma of baking biscuits filled the room. The radio sat on a small shelf on the south wall of the kitchen that my daddy had built just for it. Mother was busy sitting the table for breakfast, walking to and fro in her flour-covered apron. Over the years, I’ve tried to make similar biscuits. It can’t be done. “ Oh, how I miss those biscuits.”
I miss my mom.
There are so many things that evoke memories of my mom that I can’t possibly mention them all. On Thanksgiving Day when we are having the traditional turkey and dressing, for instance. As soon as I take a bite of the dressing, my mom comes to mind. Nobody could make turkey dressing the way my mother could. I miss my mom.
My mother enjoyed planting trees and flowers, as do I. Over the years, I’ve planted many trees and flowers. I don’t know if this is on account of my mother, or if we just shared the same love for these plants. I would almost always visit my mother on Sunday morning, arriving early so I could have time alone with her. If I arrived later in the day, it was almost certain that one of my siblings would be there. It’s not that I didn’t want the company of my brothers and sisters, I just wanted to visit with my mom for a little while first. Soon after I arrived at my mother’s house, she and I would take the “tour”. The “tour” being walking around the yard with her and looking at her many plants. As we walked among the flowers, I would be especially watchful for new ones. It was almost a certainty that she had found room to plant one more. I miss those Sunday morning walks .
I miss my mom.
Personal problems occur that as responsible adults, we have to deal with. Most of these problems are small and are easily taken care of, while others are more difficult. It was these more difficult decisions that I had to make that I would rely on my mother for help. She always helped me find the right answers. I miss getting her advice. I miss my mom.
Mothers Day is a very special day. Sons and daughters have bought gifts for their mother. Some have bought or picked flowers. And the phone lines are jammed with long distance calls. I think the restaurants are exceptionally busy also. Of the people who have lost there mother, some choose this day to visit their grave. To place flowers by the headstone, talk to them, or just visit and pay last respects.
It is with this last category that I have a problem. There is no headstone for which I can place the flowers that my mom loved so much. There is no grave for me to stand over and grieve and cry my tears. Maybe I am just selfish, but I feel so deprived of these things. I miss my mom.
My neighbor probably thinks I’m a little touched in the head because I give the oak tree in my back yard so much attention. Of all the trees in the yard, the oak tree gets the most care. I give it water and keep the grass pulled up from around it. I believe that my mother lives on in this oak tree. Feeding off her ashes, that I placed under the tree. And yes, I talk to a tree. I miss my mom.

Floyd H. Smith, Jr.
May 22, 2002

And the Lord God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground––trees that were pleasing to the eye and good for food. In the middle of the garden were the tree of life and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s