We call her Mommy—-then Mom—-when life goes bad—-who do we go to for comfort?
Her living of life has taught her more than us—-not because she paid her tuition—-but because she paid her dues. Life was her school—-her children were her students—-she gave her all for us. Her smile heals us—-her hugs comfort us—-She is shaded shelter from the burning summer sun—-her roots pushed as deep down into the solid earth as was required—-she held fast when the Daddy tree broke away—-her pride bark was stripped from her face—-but she never broke—-life pruned her—-she bore up the pain—-and yet she cared for us—-and held her ground—-many tornados came and went—-but—-she’s still standing—-she’s bent by the storms now—-and her limbs are twisted a bit—-her love is still true as the many rings that count her days—-She has become—-Wise like a tree.
*This is my Beautiful Mother Olivia, and she is Wise in spite of me—-and her shade is a numbered, precious and rare gift.