My Mother

In 1962, when I was twelve years old, I went to bed one evening.  Sometime after I had gone to sleep, I was startled awake.  The room was dark, but the bedroom door was open, and the hall light was on.  I leaned up on my elbows and looked around.  At the foot of my bed, I could make out the form of my mother, kneeling and praying.  Her voice was a quiet whisper, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but I just knew that she was praying for me.  There had been no confrontation when I had gone to bed, and there was no conflict between us.  She was just praying for me, and I was comforted.  I laid my head back softly onto the pillow and stared up at the dark ceiling.  ln a moment, she slipped out of the room and quietly shut the door behind her.  I never forgot that night, and throughout life, I always knew that my mother was praying for me.  My mother went home to her eternal reward in 2018, and I miss her.  But mostly, I miss her prayers, because for 68 years, I know that she prayed for me every evening.  Happy Mother’s Day, mom.