With Mother's Day quickly approaching,
write a story, poem, or essay
on something to do with a mother.
Maybe you miss your mother,
or remember unique things about your mother,
or look forward to spending time with your mother,
or maybe you even want to share
why you want to be a mother,
what you love about being a mother,
or why you don't want to be a mother even.

Deadline for the response is May 9th!

Hugs, Dianna

May 1, 2008
Today You Are Sixteen


Another birthday dawns, and I awaken to the sounds of ducks peeping and quacking, birds singing and splashing water. I stretch and rise, eager for the day: your special day – your birthday!

I dress and walk to the staircase. Breakfast and coffee must be prepared and I want to make sure that your presents are well-hidden, although you have a knack of finding even the most “cleverly” concealed gift. I put my hand on the rail and pause as memories sweep over me – memories of the time I stood at the top of these very stairs with you in my arms. It was 2:00 a.m., just twelve short hours since I first beheld your sweet face and breathed deeply of your unique scent. Twelve short hours since, with arms outstretched, I said to our attorney, “Give me my son!” and held you to me for the first time.

Twelve, short hours – you had awakened for your two o’clock feeding, and I leapt from my bed, eager to hold you once again. I gathered you up and started for the stairs. Something made me pause. I guess I just wanted to take a moment to once again look at you, savor the feel of your little body in my arms. I stood there, looking down at you, breathing you in once again. You arched your back as if reaching toward me, and I was lost.

Sixteen years have sped their course since that day. And yet, I can still feel the thrill that leapt through my heart at that particular moment of our bonding, of our truly becoming mother and son.

Memories race through my mind, like a slide show, embedded in my heart and sealed forever until the end of time: memories of adventures we have shared, cities we have explored … memories of raising you and the joy it has brought me.

Sweet love, you have placed my feet upon a path which I never want to leave. You have given me a gift far sweeter than I ever believed possible. You have made me a mother. More importantly, you have made me your mother.

I have watched you blossom and take on life’s challenges. I have witnessed your struggle to overcome your learning differences. And I have glowed with pride as you grew from babyhood to the incredible young man you are today. In my joy and pride, I can’t help but reflect on our journey as mother and son.

Sixteen years! To some it may seem like a long time, yet in twelve short hours, my heart was lost. And it still is. You have held my heart in your hand since that very moment. It’s a nice place to be.

©2008 Debra Shiveley Welch

My Pain


Once again it's thoughts o' motherhood
Consumin' the moments o' my mind.
I ponder the days o' your childhood
Wond'rin' when things became so maligned.

I curse the dreadful days o' darkness
That stole adolescence 'way from you.
The shadows o' your past loom heartless
O'er an optimistic point o' view.

You shared with me a glimpse o' the pain
O' the life that you presently live.
To chase far 'way the thunderous rain
I've but a bit o' sunshine to give.

Life I'd depart to erase the past
That haunts the journey o' your future.
The hope I hold in my heart is vast
For our mother 'n' son adventure.

Once again it's thoughts o' motherhood
Consumin' the moments o' my mind.
Somethin' ne'er to be misunderstood
Is the peace in Heav'n we'll both find.


©May 6th, 2008 Ruth Cox

Mother's Day Thoughts


Mother's Day is approaching and this year the day will be difficult for me. I have an empty spot in my heart and life that wasn't there last year or the years before. This day will be difficult for many, I'm sure of that. Like Christmas, Mother's Day is a day of celebration for those who have a mother to celebrate it with or those anticipating motherhood. There are, however, those of us who have lost a mother or a child and others who have not been blessed with a child no matter how hard they pray or attempt to conceive. For these mothers, this day will be a painful reminder of what so many others are enjoying.

I am blessed to still have my own mother living here with my family. She no longer enjoys being on her feet and the days of going shopping together or just having a long chat over a piece of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee have faded into yesterday along with black and white photos, Roy Rogers and gasoline that cost only $1.50 per gallon. In a strange way, we are, however, standing on common ground because many of the best parts of our lives are now nothing more than memories.

As I was growing up, I vowed to be totally different than the person I viewed my mother to be at the time. I wanted a June Clever kind of mother and instead, mine was more of cross between Lucille Ball and John Wayne. She had figured out what the really important things in life were to her and let me tell you, it was not cooking elaborate meals and constantly making home improvements that made her smile. Those things have been a part of my daily routine but she avoided them like the plague.

My mother was a stay at home mother, something nearly unheard of these days, and yet she did not care whether or not Mr. Clean lived in our bathroom and God only knows that when Swanson developed frozen dinners, my mother was one of their best customers. She loved them so much that my father came home after a long shift at the mines to find a 22 cubic foot upright freezer in our house that was filled from top to bottom with frozen dinners, frozen vegetables and ice cream. I am surprised this man who insisted on meat with every meal and plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables didn't have a heart attack right then and there.

I guess you could call her a homemaker although she never mended the clothes, cooked big meals only when totally necessary and never had a license to drive. She did not worry over dirty windows or cobwebs on the front porch the way I do now, and instead of catching us when we started to fall, she preferred to keep us from running or riding our bicycles in the first place. What she did have that carried all of us through the worst of times was a child like sense of wonder and a sense of humor that she passed on to me.

She instilled in us a sense of adventure that I also passed on to my own children. Nothing was written in stone during the days of my youth, especially after my younger brother was born with a determination and energy level that was too much for my mother at the age of thirty-nine years. If the only way to get us to eat broccoli was to dip it in chocolate pudding first then you better believe there would be a big bowl of chocolate pudding on the table. If we thought the little silver pot pie tins from Swanson would make nice wall decorations, she didn't mind at all hanging them up there with as much pride as someone else might have hung an original Picasso.

My mother taught me in her round about way exactly what mothers give to their children. They sacrifice their bodies, their sleep, their appearance, any remote idea of a social life and most of all, their own dreams. I learned on my own that sometimes, as a mother, you are forced to sacrifice your heart, your sanity and your very faith.

The child I lost was my nephew but I had brought him up here with my two birth children. I felt so blessed to share in his life and watch him grow into a fine young man. I felt so helpless the night he was in a car accident. I stood there and watched him lying lifelessly on a hospital table with no movement, no response, no way to communicate with him and knowing that nothing; not money, or power, or medical technology could keep him alive and my only instinct was to touch him and keep telling him that I was there and that it was okay for him to go home.

The years when I had my daughter, my son and my nephew here were the best ones of my life. My children gave me a purpose and helped me to focus on the simple pleasures of living. I learned what was most important to me just as my mother had learned what was important to her when her own children were young. I developed more patience than St. Teresa herself and like my mother; I learned to allow my inner child to roam freely so that I could explore the world through the eyes of my children.

This will be my first Mother's Day since Kyle's death. I will miss the three Hershey's chocolate bars he gave me every year to mark the occasion. Last year my son asked Kyle why he didn't give me a "real" gift instead of the chocolate. Kyle responded by saying, "Heck, the yard is full of flowers and she don't need anything else to work with. I want to give her something she will really use and enjoy." Most of all, I will miss his home made cards, his hugs, his giggles, and his precious smile.

This may also be the last year I am able to spend Mother's Day with my son who will be leaving for college in the fall. He will be starting his own life as my daughter has already done. I will enjoy the day with him and maybe take my mother outside to sit in our swing and talk about the old days even if she doesn't remember much about them. I'll look at the lawn and instead of an empty yard; see a yard full of children eager to begin the summer by cleaning out the swimming pool that once took up a large part of the front lawn. I'll see dogs running along behind little boys as they play "Tag" and maybe even see the teenage girls that used to sit out there for hours talking about boys, music and how to get the car keys so they could take an evening cruise through town. I see these images a lot when I'm outdoors walking around. They are the mental images that bring me comfort, warmth and a sense of accomplishment.

Until Mother's Day, I will sit here and watch the endless commercials on television that keep reminding people to buy a gift to give on Mother's Day and I'll walk through the grocery store that has greeting cards for the occasion sitting in the middle of the main aisle, flowers and candles on tables and even cakes decorated in bright icing for the occasion. I will even buy some of these things for my mother, not because the commercials tell me to but because I know now more than ever what sacrifices she has made as a mother and she has earned so much more than I could ever possibly give to her.

On Mother's Day this year I will visit the cemetery and thank Kyle for letting me share his life. I will come home and thank my son and my daughter for giving me the gift of motherhood. I have a feeling that my son will make sure I have chocolate and I will enjoy it as I always have. It is a simple indulgence but like so many other things in my life, it comes with a lot of memories. I may have given them birth, but together, the three of them gave me life.


©May 7th, 2008 Dianna Doles Petry

So Much More than
Dearest Mother


As we approach another Mothers Day and you are not at my side I still think about you all the time.

You were more then just a mother - so much more.

When I was lost you were my guide who showed me the way.
When I was confused you were cleared the way so I could see.
When I was lonely your were my friend and joined the ride.

I miss you so much and wish you were still here but I knew you had to go.

When it was dark - you were my light to show the path.
When I was sad you consoled me and held me tight.
When I was scared you held my hand til I was not scared no more.

Yes you were much more but most of all you were my mum and I miss you everyday. You still hold that highest honour and special place in my heart, and one day I hope I can be the mother to my child that you were to me.

You taught me so much mum, most of all you taught me to be me and the be the woman I am today and I do hope you are proud of me just like I was of you.

I love you always mum - you will always be a part of me.

Love Kellie


©May 8th, 2008 Kellie

Go Away, Mother's Day


Being a mother encompasses many, many emotions. Right now, as Mother's Day approaches, this is how I feel.

I am birth mother to two children, and an 'adoptive' mother to one - my son's daughter. My birth daughter was, and still is, my pride and joy. Oh, she has made mistakes in her life, but I am as proud of how she has dealt with those mistakes as I am of the things she has done the 'right' way the first time. Tina has always been a lot like me (sometimes to her detriment) but as we get older I see myself in her more and more. It is sometimes a difficult thing for me to deal with, because she generally makes the same mistakes as I did, so I want to prevent that as I see it coming. Unfortunately she is just as headstrong and self-sufficient as I am, too, so although she listens to my point of view, she prefers to learn by experience rather than being taught. She does, however carry a strong sense of character, a great sense of humour and the ability to work through her problems and come up with some incredible problem solving skills and ideas.

My son... I just don't know what to say. Joseph was born a month early, after a difficult pregnancy, and suffered many disabilities because of it. Sadly, in addition to learning disabilities and the resulting emotional issues, some of his problems were psychiatric in nature. As such, he had an abusive personality presenting severe risk to his sister and I, and later to others, including his own daughter. I carry a lot of guilt about my inability to be the kind of mother who could guide her son to the life of a decent human being. Rationally I know it's not my fault, but emotionally I feel that I have failed both him and his child, who not only was neglected by both of her parents, but who suffered physical, emotional and sexual abuse at my son's hands. I have not seen or heard from my son since about early 1997.

This brings me to the pains of raising Joseph's daughter, and my apparent failure to give her the kind of life I felt she deserved after living 17 months with a neglectful mother who was unable to express (and perhaps feel) love for her child and 4 years with my neglectful, mentally ill and abusive son. Alexis came into my husband's and my care only a few months after her fourth birthday. She was unable to verbalize much more than an eighteen to twenty-four month old. She was still in diapers, sucked her thumb, drank from a bottle, did not know how to use a spoon or fork and seemed to love everyone.

Alexis had lived a good portion of her life in filth and squalor, naked but for her diaper, with very little social contact with the outside world. She survived many days by eating cockroaches and mouse poison, as well as drinking from the toilet. She later told us tales of sneaking out of bed when her father was sleeping, stealing pizza from a box and hiding it behind the toilet tank so that if he forgot to feed her that she could eat. It wasn't until she was in Grade One that she was able to verbalize her sexual abuse. At that moment I swore I would protect her and I would never allow anyone to hurt her again. Over a year later I became her 'mom' instead of her gramma. My husband became her "Dad" and her birth father became either "Joseph" or her "birth father". I feel that I have failed either role (mom or gramma) miserably.

Today I went with my daughter to help place her in the sixth 'home' that she has lived in since February 14, 2005. This latest one is two hours away from me, and if I were placing her there on my own, I would have wrapped my arms around her protectively and walked out of that place with her. Most of the furniture was dirty, damaged and worn. Many of the walls had dirt or recently plastered spots on them. The carpets smelled like cat urine, but there was no cat. They told me they will work on Life Skills and specifically hygiene with her, yet the resident's washroom has no soap or towels to properly cleanse and dry their hands after using the toilet.

She is currently on at least 5 different kinds of medication - something for sleep, something for anxiety, birth control, an anti-depressant and God knows what else! I would stake my life on the diagnosis that she suffers from Reactive Attachment Disorder and needs adequate attachment therapy - something I have been seeking for her since she was 10 years old. She will be 18 in March 2009. They have diagnosed her as having an anxiety disorder, suffering from depression, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, ADHD, ADD, bipolar, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and more. NONE of the medications have changed a thing, except that since starting on them she has become violent and self-harms.

Less than a year after my husband (her DAD) died, she began her periods. She was not yet 12 years old. Of course the two events triggered a lot of issues related to her earlier sexual abuse. I have taken her to 4 different child service agencies requesting additional sex abuse therapy and it still hasn't happened yet. They say she is too unstable for it to help her.

There is nothing that I can do to change this situation. There are no residential treatment programs outside of Children's Services for children with her issues, so in order to provide her with 'treatment' it was necessary to place her into their care. This way she will be protected until she is 18 years old, and possibly until she is 21. If she had remained in my care she could be placed NOWHERE after she was sixteen. It took them nearly a year to convince me that this would be the best thing for her. I know it was the best thing for me. She was too dangerous to keep at home. The nature of her attachment disorder puts me in extreme danger as the anger is directed at the primary caregiver.

So, here I am. It is only days before Mother's Day. I have one child who is hell bent on learning things the hardest way possible, but who is the joy of my life, a wonderful mother, albeit a very stubborn woman. I have another child I haven't seen or heard from in 11 plus years (nor do I want to!) and who has destroyed his beautiful child's life. I have raised his daughter as my third child and I have been unable to protect and guide her the way that I should, or provide her with the therapy she has required.

Mother's Day conjures up an incredible amount of pain and guilt for me. I just want it to go away.


©May 9th, 2008 Christine (Didi) Raymo