Mothers Day 2011
In the state of Georgia with its vibrant red clay and southern charm, Dorothy Louise Sorrow met John Morris Jones. From these two, came my beautiful Momma, Shirley Arlene.
Her little hands that picked the cotton from the plants, were the same hands that gently held and caressed my face. Her 9 year-old hands that learned to make dinner for her family by listening to her mom call out directions from the bedroom are the hands that spent countless hours in the kitchen, cooking delicious and healthy meals for her husband and children. Her little hands that hid her eyes from seeing things she didn’t want to see, were the same hands that turned my face to her own and told me “It will be ok”. Her childish hands that combed her dying mothers hair and rubbed her swollen feet are the same hands that rubbed my head and soothed my fear, as I lay sick in bed. These are the hands of my beautiful Momma.
Her little eyes that could see the possibility of a stylish outfit…“if only I had black patent shoes to match the polka dots in my dress”, she thought…these blue eyes could see the possibility of something beautiful among the common. She didn’t have those shoes, but she used her knack for style to make sure her daughters were well-dressed, despite financial restrictions. Her eyes that cried, mourning her own loss at such a young age, are the same eyes that cry for others who hurt and need someone to care. She can see and make something out of nothing and feel for others like no one else I know. These are the eyes of my beautiful Momma.
Sitting in school, with her arms crossed on the desk, she would hide her face from embarrassment. She would find relief for a moment from her shyness. These same arms embrace her family with no reservations. These arms hold her children and now her grandchildren, making them feel strong and secure and loved like no other. These are the arms of my beautiful Momma.
As children we are exposed to situations that are out of our control and our eyes, hands and arms experience things we don’t always understand. I have a role model for those times. I have someone who has shown me that the pain and loss in life can be a catalyst; a shaping; a determination…to take what you have experienced and use it to give to others. This is the life of my beautiful Momma.
I’m not sure I could ever express how much I love you, but I will keep trying for the rest of my life. I’m so proud of you.
Your forever-thankful daughter,
This could not be any more beautiful – nor could your precious Mother be any more beautiful.