Daffodils

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How has your disability affected your relationship with a brother or sister?

Daffodils

Name: Dianna H. Cline
Email: thcline@hotmail.com
Date: 06 Nov 2001
Time: 18:48:55

Story

It was a beautiful spring day, when mother and I went for a walk in the front yard. It was so nice smelling the freshly cut grass. The sun was shining, and the birds were singing their spring songs. They were flying about to get twigs to build their nests for the summer. We really enjoyed watching how perfectly the birds would land in a tree and how graceful they would take off in flight.

As we walked, mother was holding my hand, and we were singing some of my favorite little songs. I always thought that mother had beautiful black hair, and I can remember how soft spoken she was. As we walked, she clutched my hand and said that I was her big brown-eyed baby doll.

We noticed some of the most beautiful yellow daffodils, in a field, not far from the house. Mother and I picked some, till our hands were full as they could be. It seemed like the flowers were showing off their beauty and were putting on a good show. We walked further to the woods because the trees were full and tall. I tried to climb a small one, and I wasn't afraid at all.

It was getting close to dinner time, so mother and I headed back to the house. She packed us a basket with sandwiches and some good lemonade to drink. We went out on the front porch and we sat on the swing to eat our lunch. We had a picnic and listened to a wind chime that hung near our heads. I felt so happy and loved because it seemed like this day, was was made just for mother and me.

There came a day that mother started getting sick and passing out. It scared me because I didn't know what was wrong with her. She was taken to see a doctor, and they did a couple of tests, and they found out that she had cancer on one of her legs close to her knee. In a short time, which was only two months later, they had to amputate her leg, but the cancer had already spread beyond that point.

Back in the 50s, hospitals had strict rules. Children under 12 could not go in, so my brother and I could not go in to see mother. At times, our sister stayed at the hospital to do whatever she could to help take care of mother. My brother and I stayed at home with family members. I know it was hard on mother, worrying about what might happen in the future for her, my sister, brother, and myself.

What also concerned mother was that daddy left us when my sister was 11, brother six, and I was four years old. He wasn't going to be around for mother or for us, especially now that she was very sick. Things were not looking good for mother, so the doctor told the family what was about to happen anytime.

One night all three of us were home in bed when our uncle came in and told us that our mother was dead. I didn't understand what that word meant. Back in the 50s, a lot of times families would have the bodies brought home to lie in state. I stood there looking at mother, but I didn't understand why mother was lying in that "THING."

After a couple of days, I started crying because I didn't know where mother was or when she was coming home. I went out behind a small building and cried my heart out. Mother died April 5, 1952, and I was going to be seven April 15. At that time, for my sister, brother, and me, things just seemed to be hopeless. We stayed with our uncle Bill, who was mother's brother, and our grandparents, who were mother's parents.

I am in my fifties now. It's still hard for me to talk about mother without crying. One of these days, I know that my "Precious Lord" will call me home to a far more beautiful place. God and my mother will be there waiting for me. God will take one of my hands, and mother will take the other hand. She and I will take another walk together. But this time it will be in "HEAVEN."

Daffodils

Story

Last changed: October 20, 2003