Tag Archives: memories of mothers


“Men are what their mothers made them.”  — Ralph Waldo Emerson

I thought and believed at one time that my mother was God, or at the very least a god-like figure:    

For the past few weeks, I have been going through old journals, scissoring out unwanted and unneeded material.  Old essays, old emails, and old class notes–among other things.  Glued-in essays no longer relevant.  Gone.  Deleted.

So volume by volume, I page through.

On May 5, 2016, I was working on Volume 91: 12-11-2008–10-12-2009.

My reading became deliberate.  My entries slowed me down.  Few clips of the scissors.  More attention to the words.  A Mother’s Day.  A mother’s illness, and hospitalization.  A mother’s death [10-7-2009].  A chronology of events, details. 

Ironic timing: Another Mother’s Day is here. 

And some vivid memoriesofatime:

Mom in Ohio 2008Mom Relaxing on Swing, Ohio Cottage 2008


©  James F. O’Neil   2016




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