Mothers Day | Surely Shirley

I have relished reading so many loving posts about mothers these past few days. I phoned my mother every night for over forty years, starting when I moved away from home, and ending when she died. When she lived in Texas, our phone bill was often more than double our rent.

This lifetime of conversation spanned the mundane to the sublime. And, over the years, I stopped seeing my mom as who she was to me. Call by call, year by year, a portrait unfolded of what she was to herself and to her life.

It is always a sacred privilege to know anyone deeply, but if this person is your mother, I think it is a miracle.

And, even though I reserved this time for her each day, it was not enough. I wish I had made more.

As I often am, when feeling things deeply, I was moved to poetry. I wrote a poem for her. You can read it here.