Mother's birthday - November 27th

Mother was born November 27, 1906 in Seattle, Washington and died July 26, 2003.

My tribute to my mother:

My mother's hands became her last instrument of expression in the last few days and weeks of her life. Her hands reached out to greet, to acknowledge, to thank, to love and to say goodbye. I have looked at my mother's hands for years, but just before she died I looked at them with a different set of eyes. The eyes of a grateful daughter who has since remembered that those were the hands that first held me. Those were the hands that I first learned to trust. Those were the hands that cooked and cleaned for me, wrote me letters, signed my birthday cards, my mother's day cards, wrapped my birthday, Christmas, and Mother's Day gifts, sewed for me, crotchet and knitted for me, and quilted for me, turned the pages of good books that were read to me, but most important, pointed me in the right direction and prayed for me.

Those hands were beautiful and strong. There were no hands like my mother's. Her tender care will never be forgotten.

Everyone of us likes to hold hands. We see so many hands being held. I love to hold my husband's hand. I love to hold my daughter's hands, my son's hands, my beautiful grand children's hands. I love to put my arms around my children and grandchildren and hold them very close to me. There is something so magical when hands are held. It is like a quiet heart to heart talk.

What a cherished memory of my mother a few weeks before she died when we had our last heart to heart talk as I looked into those beautiful blue eyes of hers and she held my hand. Friends asked if she was able to talk in the end. She was always able to talk, but you had to listen very carefully.

I believe our Heavenly Father was right there extending his right hand as my mother left this mortal life and I have all the trust in the Lord that she was never alone, because she walked hand in hand in His paths.

I know that the hands that first held me, will once again hold me.

Mother wrote this poem called:

"Infinity"

"Like thread unwinding from a spool

Our lives move on an inch or two each day.

Not always evenly; often snarls of indecision,

Knots of trouble frustrate and delay.

Though we complain at all the tangles,

They are not obstacles but blessings,

From Him who gave us life,

To strengthen our soul and teach us humility.

One day the last inch of thread unwinds,

The spool is empty - just as we must go

To other worlds - unwinding other spools -

Perhaps."