Mother's Day is this Sunday, and I'm missing mine,
Mama passed on December 30, 2002. Sixteen years and four months ago. I miss her everyday.
Mom was a piece of work. Depression kid. Writer. Reader. Dreamer. Pragmatist. Antagonist. Cynical. Hardworking. Immovable. Family first. Not afraid to make a statement.
Mama had this unique ability to sense things that hadn't happened yet. Unforeseen dangers. Products that should be created. What people were about to do or say. We called it her ESP.
One quirky thing about her was her love of lighthouses. I talked about it at her funeral. She never lived near the shore. She never was a swimmer or a ship captain. But, mama loved lighthouses.
I think what she really loved was the idea of being in a totally safe place in the midst of a treacherous storm next to a fire with a cup of coffee and a good book.
The more I've thought about her over the years, Babe was like a lighthouse.
She was first and foremost a place of safety. If you watched her, listened to her, she would guide you to where you wanted to be.
She was a bit of antique technology that still works today. A light in the storm telling lost folks where to steer.
She stood there in the storm for smart people. Idiots didn't heed. Betty Jane harbored no fools.
She was as dependable as the sun. Always there. Never moving. Every day. Every night. She was just always there.
She was giving. Nothing about her existence was about her. It was about others.
She had that light on top of her head. If you never met Elizabeth Jane McLarin Burks, she had a mop of white hair that shown like a silver moon. I could always find her.
Happy Mother's Day, Mama. I still see your light. Stoke the fire, brew some more coffee and pick out a good book for me.
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